Payment in Postits  A Sequel
by writtenmatrix
Summary: A Sequel to one-shot LOOSEN UP MY BUTTONS! Please read that first, if you haven't already!    In this Non-Magical AU, Draco is determined to win over Harry Potter, the wild but stubborn band-junkie. But Potter is hesitant to commit...
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Nearly taking the front door off its hinges, the two boys tripped through the entrance of Harry's flat, completely engulfed in a desperate kiss, bodies and lips pressed together forcefully. They collided with everything, it seemed; Draco tripped over the edge of the rug, hitting his head on the mounted key holder as the shorter boy roughly pinned him against the wall. The brunet hungrily devoured his lips, raking his fingernails beneath Draco's now seriously creased shirt, leaving bright red marks in the blond's smooth, pale skin.

Draco was on fire, groping the other boy's lithe, muscular body with more intense hunger and need then he'd ever felt. He dropped his head down to Harry's neck, kissing and biting the boy's deliciously tanned skin. He'd had this boy once tonight, but already he wanted more. Lots more. He felt as though this Potter boy was a drug, and Draco was a man who had had a taste of something incredible, and now he would do anything for another fix.

Refusing to remove himself from the blond's clutches, Harry backed them up straight down the hall and to the door of his bedroom. With a frantic twist of the doorknob, the lovers nearly fell into the room. Then dropped onto the bed with a feathery thump, entangled in each other's limbs. Harry, who had landed on top, finally ended the kiss, straddling Draco and grinding his hips into the blond's.

Draco let out an electrified gasp as the erotic roll of Harry's pelvis created an agonizing friction. He moaned and reached to rip off the brunet's shirt but was stopped, when strong hands grabbed his wrists, pinning them to the bed above him. Draco was surprised at the strength of the smaller boy, who was turning out to be a sexual fireball, assertive and demanding.

With a wicked grin, Harry leaned in and dropped teasing hot kisses on Draco's lips, using his free hand to unbutton the blond's shirt. When he was finished, he licked his way down Draco's defined chest, stopping to bite one of the his hard nipples and earning a pleasured cry for his efforts.

Suddenly, to Draco's utmost dismay, the brunet was off the bed and across the room, his lust filled emerald eyes staring into Draco's silver ones as he pulled off his shirt to reveal his toned, tight body.

Unimpressed by the other boy's sudden distance, Draco propped himself up on his elbows. "What are you doing, Potter?" he asked, trying to smother the sound of his nerves, in hopes that he would come across more non-chalant than he actually felt.

"Taking a shower," Harry said, raising an eyebrow. "Care to join me?" he asked, disappearing into the en-suite bathroom.

Draco paused in a moment of shock, before his head managed to catch up with the request. Then, his legs couldn't carry him fast enough, as he threw himself off the bed and after Harry.

Stepping into the bathroom that was already filling with hot steam from the hot water, Draco's breath hitched as he watched Harry through the foggy glass of the shower stall, water running down his beautiful back and dripping off his incredibly tight, round ass, leaving red, scalded rivlets down his skin. His rather unruly hair was now wet and clinging to his face, and as the brunet threw his head back into the shower's heavy spray, Draco thought he could very well cream himself right then and there.

When Harry turned his face to look at Draco, his lips were parted slightly, panting and sighing under the hot water cascading over his body. "It's going to get rather lonely in here rather quickly, if you don't hurry up," he breathed, reaching a hand down to tug at his own throbbing erection.

That was enough to snap Draco out of his daze and he quickly shed the rest of his clothes. He snatched his wallet from his back pocket and rifled through it for a condom. Finding one, he tossed the wallet aside carelessly. He slid into the shower, shutting the door behind him.

Wet Potter was even more irresistible than regular Potter, and Draco latched onto the boy's lips, eagerly pressing his naked form flush against the other's. He was satisfied to hear the brunet moan into the kiss at their full wet-skin-to-skin contact.

Harry's hands ripped through fine, platinum locks, causing Draco to hiss in a slight pain that only fed his now violent arousal. Breaking the kiss, Harry reached for the shower rack, and pulled out a small blue bottle that was tucked in behind the shampoo. "Fuck me, Malfoy," he breathed, forcing the lube into the blond's palm.

"Gladly," was Draco's only fervent and only reply. Man-handling the smaller boy, he spun him around and forced him to lean over until his hands rested against the shower's opposite wall. Dipping his fingers into the bottle, Draco slipped first one, then two fingers inside the other boy's waiting entrance. The brunet moaned, clenching at the intrusion. When he relaxed, Draco scissored his fingers a few times, digging in deeper and curling them, hitting Potter's sweet spot.

Harry cried out in pleasure. "Ahh, Yesss..." He pushed his ass up against Draco's hand, begging for more. Draco slipped in a third finger. "Fuck, I want you inside me," the boy groaned.

Unable to take anymore waiting, and eager to grant his lover's wishes, Draco slipped the condom over his aching cock, slathering it with lube before readying it at Harry's tight hole. He slowly pushed in, biting his tongue at the outstanding pleasure of being engulfed by this boy's hot, tight muscles. Once fully sheathed, Draco pulled back until just the tip remained inside, paused, then slammed back in rather forcefully. Harry let out a wail, and a very small part of Draco's conscious brain hoped that he hadn't hurt the smaller boy. The rest of his brain, however, was focused on one thing, and one thing only, and that was fucking this beautiful brunet into next Wednesday. It took him no time to pick up speed, and soon he was thrusting hard and fast, reveling in the cries of pleasure that were spilling from other boy's lips.

Throwing his head back, the hot water caressed Draco's face and forehead, adding to his pleasure. He opened his eyes to see Harry grasping his own cock, stroking it in time with Draco's thrusts. The brunet was whimpering by now, and Draco tightened his grip around the smaller boy's hips, surely leaving bruises, as he felt his climax rushing towards him powerfully. Then, Harry arched his back, taking in the blond's cock even deeper. With a final jab at his prostate, Harry was cumming fast and hard, shaking with pleasure. The feeling of that compact little body tightening around his cock was more than enough to send Draco over the edge, his orgasm ripping through him violently.

Feeling too unstable to relinquish his grasp on Harry's hips, Draco collapsed onto the other boy's back. Still panting heavily, Harry threw his hand out and turned off the water. He slowly stood up, forcing the blond to straighten as well and let his exhausted cock slip from Potter's body.

Draco found himself mesmerized, as the sexy brunet turned around, a hand absentmindedly drifting down his own chest. He was fairly certain he'd never seen anything so perfect before. This boy in front of him was - flawless. Not to mention mysterious, rambunctious and enticing. And yet, he didn't know if he found the boy's apparent carelessness frustrating or even more exciting. Even after having had his way with the boy twice, he still couldn't shake the feeling that he'd been manipulated or used - not that he was really complaining about the methods.

Seeing Draco watching him, Harry quirked an eyebrow with a smirk and sidled past him, pushing open the door. "Well, Malfoy, I guess you can be proud of yourself - you've officially tired me out," he said as he grabbed a towel and tousled his hair dry. He moved to step out of the room, not bothering to cover up, but tossed Draco the towel as he left. Draco caught it, and after a moment's hesitation, wrapped it around his waist and followed Potter.

He stepped out to see Harry sprawled on his back on the ruffled bed sheets, exposed and calm. As he watched the boy drift into unconsciousness, he shifted uncomfortably and wondered if he should leave. He didn't exactly expect the boy to play host, but he was feeling oddly self-conscious standing half-naked in the boy's apartment. Which was strange because Draco rarely felt anything but confident and cocky- no pun intended-when naked or just after sex. But this boy wasn't like the others. He didn't grovel at Malfoy's worthy feet or praise his uncanny sexual brilliance. It threw him for a loop.

He made the decision and started to pull on his trousers.

There was a small moan from the bed. Draco looked up to Potter speaking, although the brunet never actually opened his eyes. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

Draco tried not to pause at the words, attempting to appear unfazed. "Going home," he snorted. "What? You want me to make you breakfast too? Come on, most guys would kill for the night you just had with me," he said, allowing his usual ego to resurface. So what if this boy was oddly perfect and amazing in bed? He'd had him hadn't he? Twice, for that matter! He should be happy-and relieved to be getting off easy.

"No. You're not going anywhere," Harry said, managing to sound commanding, even from his less-than-threatening position on the bed. "I expect you to finish what you started. Morning sex is half the fun."

Draco smirked, dropping the shirt he'd been about to put on and walking over to the side of the bed. "Is that so?"

Without warning, Harry sat up on his knees, and tugged Draco into him by the belt loops. "Yes, that's so." Draco shivered as the brunet's lips brushed at his earlobe, breath hot on his neck. "Are you disagreeing with me?"

Draco chuckled, slipping a hand around Harry's hips to rest on his ass. He firmly gripped a cheek and pressed himself into the other boy's groin. "No, I'm not disagreeing," he said, bringing a knee up onto the bed and laying the raven-haired boy onto his back. He briefly lingered above him, resting on his hands and knees, before flipping over to the other side of the bed, pulling off his trousers and slipping under the covers.

"See you in the morning, Potter," he said, turning his back to the boy with a self-satisfied smirk.

~.~.~

The next morning, was to say the least, fan-fucking-tastic. It was almost peculiar; each time they had sex somehow felt just as exciting, just as fervent, as the first time - not that Draco was complaining.

When they woke up, Harry had gotten up to get dressed, but was instead accosted by a hormone-fueled Draco, who was fairly certain the raven-haired boy had had no intention of actually putting clothes on in the first place. They fucked on the dresser of the bedroom, then against the wall in the hallway, then again on the kitchen table.

At this point Draco was fairly sure there was more than just metaphorical drugs involved, because he'd never came that many time within a forty five minute period. By the time he collapsed in a chair in the kitchen, he was completely fried, his flaccid dick aching with exhaustion.

He wiped perspiration from his forehead, watching as the young band junkie threw on his jeans and proceeded to heat up a pan.

"You like eggs and toast?" he asked.

Draco was nearly too delirious with fatigue to process the question. "What? Oh yeah, that'd be great. Thanks." With great effort he got up to re-dress.

Harry cracked four eggs into the pan, and dropped some bread into the toaster. He then served up some coffee and handed it to Draco, who had just slipped on his shirt. Leaving it unbuttoned, he took the cup.

"This should help," Harry said. "It's from yesterday, but it'll still serve its purpose."

Draco was grateful for the hot cup, despite its age, which was saying something, because Draco had a thing about fresh coffee - fresh anything really. He realized that was a clear sign of just how desperate he was for any extra form of energy.

He sat back down, and after a few sips, Draco felt his brain starting to regain functionality. He took the time to look around the flat and observed the wall to wall windows and sliding glass patio doors, the new floors and modern furnishings. To be honest, it wasn't quite what he was expecting of Potter. The kid was pure grunge, and Draco was surprised his flat wasn't.

"So, Potter," Draco started. "These are pretty nice digs you've got here. You afford all this with your band money?"

Harry glanced over his shoulder from the stove with a scoff. "Are you kidding? This is an understatement of what I can afford. I'm saving."

The blond looked skeptical. "How is that possible? The Room of Requirement isn't even..." Draco was momentarily distracted, when Harry started absentmindedly rubbing his own collar bone, while tending to the sizzling pan. His muscles flexed, and his tanned skin grew taught over his slender stomach... There was a twitch in Draco's jeans. He shook his head, forcing himself out of his daze. He would not succumb to this boy. He had to remain on top - more than just literally. There was no way he was going to let Potter see the effect he actually had on him. He was a Malfoy. _He_ was the one to be wanted. He ignored the voice in his head that told him Potter probably already knew the effect he had on people, guys and girls alike. Draco cleared his throat. "Isn't even, um, that big of a place."

Harry snorted. "It's big enough. Gets super packed." He glanced over at Draco briefly as he grabbed a spatula to serve up the eggs. "Clearly you were too busy drooling last night to notice."

Irritation shot through Draco's veins. He wasn't used to someone else being the cocky one. He wasn't quite sure how to take it. "Drooling, Potter?"

Harry gave him a look that told Draco that he didn't buy his act, but he continued before Draco could try to redeem himself. "We play there every weekend and we get paid really well. Besides, it's not like it's our only gig."

The toast popped up, and Harry tossed them onto a plate, grabbing the butter and jam from the fridge. "Not to mention the gifts," he added.

Draco watched as Harry put a plate down in front of him, and went back to grab cutlery. The blond was mildly aware that he should probably be helping, but the conversation was concerning him enough that he was losing focus on most other things.

"Gifts?"

The brunet leaned against the kitchen counter, and with his plate in one hand, and a fork in the other, started in on his food. "Well, yeah. Let's just say I have... Generous fans. People throw money at me all the time. Gifts, cash, drinks, you name it. They seem to think it will give them a shot with me, and I just let them keep thinking that."

"Well, doesn't it?"

"What? Give them a shot with me?" At the nod of Draco's head, Harry shrugged. "Sometimes. But like I told you last night. It's not like attractive guys are hard to come by for me, so I chose wisely. It takes more than just a little bit of bling to get into my pants."

Draco fought against staring frozen at the egotistical son-of-a-bitch. He had to keep from looking too interested. That might translate to awe, and there was no way a Malfoy was going to be impressed by anyone more than he was impressed by himself. "Well isn't that honorable of you," Draco commented dryly, starting in on his eggs.

Harry shrugged. "Whatever. If people want to throw themselves at me, be my guest. They're making fools of themselves, not me."

Draco didn't know what to say. He didn't like that this boy was so confident. He took another bite of his breakfast instead.

Harry seemed to read his mind. "What, you think after all this time, I'd have no clue how many people want me? It's the musician thing, I can't help that. I could be hideous and I'd still have an onslaught of admirers. Look at me like that all you want, Malfoy; I didn't make the rules."

Draco couldn't really argue with that, so he changed the subject. "So you said you're saving for something? What exactly?"

Harry put his plate down, having scarfed his food down unceremoniously fast. "Travel, school... Don't really know yet to be honest." He wiped his hands off on his jeans, chugged back the last of his coffee, and moved to look under the kitchen table. He glanced around the room. "Where's my shirt?"

Draco gestured towards the other side of the apartment. "Hallway."

Harry smirked. "Oh, that's right. Didn't get too far with that one this morning."

He left to grab it, and when he came back, he was pulling the shirt over his head. Draco couldn't stop himself from staring at the pelvic bones protruding up from his low slung jeans, just before his shirt covered the sight, much to Draco's disappointment.

"Listen, I hate to fuck you and truck you, but I gotta run."

Still chewing, Draco glanced down at his half-finished plate of food.

"Please, take your time," the brunet insisted. "I have keypad entry, so just hit the lock button behind you when you leave."

"Alright," Draco stammered, slightly bewildered at how casually Harry was leaving the scene. Usually Draco's fucks begged him not to go in the morning. Usually they fawned over him and asked when they could see him again. That is, if he was still there by the time he woke up.

"Where are you going?"

"The studio. We're recording today."

Draco mustered up some of his usual charm—the Malfoy poise that Potter had a tendency to rip out from under him from time to time. "So, did this morning earn me your number?" he asked with a suggestive raise of his eyebrows and seductive smirk.

Potter returned the smirk. "No."

Draco was dumbstruck. "What? How were you not impressed?"

Harry laughed. "Oh trust me, I was. My sore ass is proof of that." He zipped up his grey hoodie, and started to slip into this leather jacket.

"So then..."

Harry grinned up at him as he adjusted his jacket. "You know where to find me."

Without another word, he turned and slipped out the door, leaving Draco feeling confused as to what had just happened.


	2. Chapter 2

***A million thanks go out to my wonderfully talented beta sordid_humors!***

**Chapter 2**

"You fucking blagger," Blaise said. "You went home with the old bartender didn't you? Quit your fucking lying, Drake."

Draco was sitting with Blaise back at their apartment, and his friend hadn't stopped questioning him about the previous night since he'd walked in early that afternoon.

Draco sighed, too exhausted to retaliate with an insult. "For the last time Blaise, I'm not lying. We danced, he pulled me into the back... and then we fucked like rabid dogs against the bathroom wall." He tried to change the subject. "So, how was the chick you left with?" It was only out of extreme desperation that he brought this up. He avoided vagina like the plague, even in conversation.

Blaise waved a flippant have in the air. "Oh, the usual. She threw herself at my dazzling good looks. Nothing out of the ordinary. So he actually took you back to his place?"

Draco gave his best friend a curious expression. "You actually want the pornographic details? And you're sure you're straight?"

Blaise laughed, shaking his head. Draco often hinted that Blaise might be gay...or curious. And although he didn't believe it for a second, he was endlessly amused by the straight man's reactions. "I just... I cannot believe you made it with him, Drake. I mean, I know you're good, but seriously? I thought it was a waste of time, even for you. Especially with Red there with him."

Draco's brow furrowed in confusion. "Red?"

"Sure. His little fire-crotch of a mate."

Draco winced. "Lovely imagery, Zabini. How do you know all this anyway?"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "We all grew up in the same city; the world's a lot smaller when you're sixteen. They went to Godric."

Godric High School was one of the four small secondary schools in the area, each specializing in certain subjects. Draco and Blaise had attended Salazar, Godric's biggest rival in everything from test scores to football.

At Draco's blank stare, he heaved an exasperated sigh. "Didn't you go to footie games?"

Draco raised an eyebrow at him, as if his expression alone answered the question.

"Read the school paper, then?"

Draco only intensified his expression.

Blaise rolled his eyes again. "Right, well, a lot happened while you were jerking off in your Malfoy-holier-than-thou-box. As in 'life'. I think you missed it. Anyway, Potter and his mate, Weasley, were the pride of Godric," Blaise explained impatiently. "Everyone thought they'd get recruited by an academy. I guess things didn't pan out."

"Okay..." Draco drawled. "And?"

"His father is a whimpering excuse of a man-works in government. Loathes your father, of course," Blaise added offhandedly, "but you can't blame him for that. I mean, who doesn't?"

Lucius Malfoy was a widely disliked man, ruling the Ministry of Justice with an iron fist. He was completely void of empathy; since his appointment, his influence in unfair trials and excessive sentencing had ripped apart and ruined countless families.

Draco was well aware of his father's misconduct, and frankly, wanted nothing to do with the man. They spoke sparingly on holidays and, if Lucius remembered to call on Draco's birthday, there would be an awkward exchange of insincere good wishes. Then it was a race to see who could hang up first.

However surprisingly, Lucius wanted to find a way to fix things with his son-Draco suspected selfish reasons over an actual concern for their relationship. He had hopes of Draco following in his footsteps, upholding the Malfoy name, but he knew Draco had no intention of doing so. And Lucius, being the emotionally ill-equipped man that he was, had no clue how to approach the problem, so it was an issue that a grateful Draco never really had to talk about.

"Yeah, I can't say I'm surprised. But what did he do to Weasley to make it so personal?"

Blaise shrugged. "Couldn't tell ya, mate. But if you ask me, Weasley's bound to be _pissed_ right about now.

~.~.~

"You did WHAT?"

Harry didn't flinch. He'd been prepared for the outburst. "You heard me, Ron. You really want me to repeat it?"

Ron was a bright crimson all the way down to his neck, the vivid color disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. Harry rarely saw him this furious: the few times he had had always involved Hermione, or Mr. Snape, their old Maths professor from primary school.

It was silent a little too long. Harry looked up, his pick still clamped between his teeth as he tuned his strings. Ron was blue in the face now and Harry got the feeling he was holding his breath to keep from exploding again.

"Uh, Ron? Breathe, mate. It helps with, you know, the living thing."

The red-head took a huge breath, as if he'd just reached the surface of the ocean after nearly drowning. "Harry," he articulated through gritted teeth. "What. The. Fuck?"

Harry raised an inquisitive brow.

"Don't play dumb, Potter. _Why_, of all the easy fucks you could have had, why _Malfoy_?" The disdain loaded into that single name gave Harry pause. He sighed.

"The name means less to me than it does to you, Ron. I'm sorry, I reckoned it wasn't that big a' deal. You've never cared who I sleep with. Plus...he's fucking fit, yeah? Do I need more of a reason?"

Ron pulled a face. "Ugh…"

Harry laughed. Putting his guitar strap around his back, he moved over to Ron and patted his shoulder. "Trust me, last night had _nothing_ to do with his father." He smirked. "Unless his father is as good a toss as-"

Ron leaped away frantically. "Ahhh! Ahh! Shut up, Harry!"

A mischievous grin worked its way across Harry's face. "Sorry," he added, at least half sincere, despite his expression.

Though disgruntled, Ron seemed to accept the apology and dropped the subject. Harry wondered if he would regret asking but the words fell out, anyway.

"What exactly is the deal between him and your father anyway?"

Ron sat down at his drums, testing out the foot peddle a couple times. "He works with my father. He's a bigoted, patronizing arsehole who thinks the world owes him something because he's a rich spoiled little twatter. He enforces judicial laws that make no sense, and he so obviously discriminates against people he considers 'lower-class', it's laughable. Seriously, the guy's gonna rot in hell. I just wish someone would give 'em a hand getting there."

"Whoa, now, Ronald. Tell me how you really feel..." Harry mumbled.

Ron rolled his eyes at Harry's sarcasm, but didn't reply. He frowned at the clock on the wall.

"Where the hell is Hermione?" he scowled.

"She'll be here, don't worry. Don't take your frustration out on your girlfriend," Harry prodded, trying to conceal a smile. Hermione and Ron had been at each other's throats twenty-four-seven for over ten years but it was obvious to Harry that there was something between them...despite the persistent denial on both sides.

His friend shot him a glare. "She is _not _my bloody girlfriend... cheeky git. Don't push your luck, Potter. I already hate you today."

Harry smirked, adjusting his cap and the bits of shaggy black locks that peaked out past the rim. "You love me, Weasley," he teased.

The brunet ducked, barely avoiding the drumstick thrown lovingly at his head.

~.~.~

"So… what're your plans tonight?"

Blaise could hear the underlining question concealed in his friend's words. He gave the blond a skeptical look. "Didn't get enough last night there Malfoy? Well, I hate to tell you this, but I'm pretty well knackered. Not sure I can handle much more than video games and porn tonight."

"You're always knackered," the blond argued. "How is tonight any different? Besides, the real thing is always better than porn."

"Meh," Blaise shrugged. "Depends on how tired you are. My right hand takes a hell of a lot less effort than taking the time to please a bint. Good ole righty does the selfish job in 5 minutes flat, and I never have to buy it flowers on its birthday."

Blaise had been rummaging around in the fridge. He emerged from behind the refrigerator door with a cartoon of orange juice, taking a huge swig from the container. "He's not even playing tonight, Drake. Wait 'til next weekend."

Draco resisted the urge to pout. He was inexplicably anxious to see the Potter boy again. He couldn't stop thinking about his firm abs, toned arms and shoulders…

He fidgeted in his seat. His eyes fell on his roommate, who was wearing nothing but tight boxer briefs and sweatpants, looking scally and oh-so-fuckable. Blaise was in terrific shape, Draco had to admit. If it wasn't for the fact that Zabini was his best friend, not to mention straight as a board, Draco would have pounced him a long time ago. Now, Draco suddenly found himself quite unnaturally taken with the trail of dark hair that pointed down from Blaise's belly button and beyond the band of his boxers...

The brunet noticed Draco's eye line, and nearly choked on his orange juice.

"NonononoNO!" Blaise blurted, yanking open the fridge door and hiding behind it, effectively shaking Draco from his day dreaming. "Oh, ew! For fuck's sake, mate! how many times have I told you? You_ cannot_ look at me like that!"

Draco shrugged, aware that this mishap was viable as black mail. "I can't help it," he added in self-defence. "I've got sex on the brain."

Blaise covered his face with his hand in frustration, then ran his fingers up to tug at his hair. "Okay, Malfoy. You win. We'll go..." he smiled then, looking resigned. "You manipulative, horny little twat."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Holla to my beta sordid_humors! You are radaliscious. Yup. It's a word.**

**Chapter 3**

The music pounded but Draco didn't hear it, too focused on scanning the dance floor as thoroughly as possible from his slightly limited vantage point at the bar. He also didn't hear Blaise talking to him over the steady, reverberating beat.

"Ow! You shit, what was that for?" Draco demanded, rubbing the back of his head.

"Hitting you was apparently the only way to bring you back to earth," Blaise replied. "You can stop playing vulture. Your boy's right there." He gestured to the middle of the dance floor.

Draco followed his friend's gaze, finally setting eyes on the black-haired boy who, quite obviously, was more than enjoying himself. His lithe frame was entangled with another man's, who was devouring Harry's neck.

"Looks like he's a little busy," Blaise prodded, chancing a quick glance at Draco with a smirk.

"Hmm," Draco hummed, as non-chalant as possible, taking a sip of his liquor. He brought down the glass and licked his lips. "Yes, well, not for long."

Blaise raised an eyebrow at the blond. Draco ignored him, handing over his drink with an offhanded, "hold this."

Draco sauntered onto the dance floor, slow and confident. He felt several people's eyes on him. He could feel their gazes skim up and down his body. He looked good. He'd made damn sure of that before he'd left the house...

~.~.~

"Blaise!" he had hollered as he was getting ready. "Blaise, get in here!"

"OHH MYYY GOODD," came the brunet's voice from the other room. "Draco! For fuck's sake, I've been in and out of here 50 times. That's quite enough exercise for me. I don't want to be _too_ good looking." Blaise appeared at the bedroom door, leaning casually against the frame.

"Yes, well, if you'd just stay in here, you wouldn't have to be breaking a sweat."

"This may come as a shock to you, Drake, but I don't fancy watching you change."

Draco finished adjusting his collar in the mirror, and turned to face his friend. "You're right, that _does_ shock me." He opened his hands, waiting for input on his new attire.

Blaise paused. "Drake, what's diff -"

"Everything! Everything is different, Blaise!" he huffed. Seriously, some people were positively _blind_ when it came to fashion. It made him wonder why he was giving weight to Blaise's opinion-oh yes! Because there was no one else and so Draco was forced to settle. "It doesn't matter. Just – how does it look?"

Blaise had surveyed Draco from head to toe. He was wearing a dark green, silk button-up that would have appeared black if it wasn't for the subtle sheen of color that flashed in the light with Draco's every movement. The sleeves were folded to three-quarter length, and the top couple buttons of his collar left undone. He wore black jeans that left little to the imagination, and were topped off with a pair of slick cow-boy reminiscent boots. Strands of blond fell casually over Draco's brow.

Blaise sighed. "I'm going to be honest. You look very… fuckable. Hell, I'd do you."

Draco smirked. "I'm free tomorrow night, if you're interested."

With a roll of his eyes, Blaise had turned and left the doorway. "In your dreams, Malfoy."

~.~.~

Now, Draco was gliding through the crowd, bee-lining straight for the two writhing boys, both of whom he couldn't stop picturing underneath him; one, whose ass he'd pound with his cock, the other whose face he'd pound with his fist.

There was a flash of orange, and someone had him by the arm, and the first thing Draco thought of was how his shirt was likely getting wrinkled in the sweaty grip. He tore his eyes away from his target and focused on the alarmingly red person in front of him.

Red everything;. red hair, red freckles, and an alarmingly red face, flushed with anger.

"Oh, no you don't," the ginger spat. "Not again. You had your fun, Malfoy. I'll kill Harry for it, but I can forgive the guy, he's only human. But _you_! You're not human-you're pure asshole, in more ways than one I'm sure. And I'll be_ buggered _if I let you get to Harry a second time."

Draco wasn't sure if he was more inclined to yell or laugh. He ripped his arm from Ron's grip and smoothed his sleeve pretentiously, a disgusted look on his elegant features.

"Cool it, mongrel. You'll mess yourself." He sneered down at Ron for another brief moment then allowed his gaze to drift over the red head's shoulder, finding Harry again-Harry, who remained oblivious to their altercation. "Besides," he added. "You're not the one who's about to be buggered."

"Why I oughta-" Ron looked right about ready to take a swing, but someone grabbed hold of his shoulders before he could get his fist back far enough.

"Ron!" The girl scolded. "Don't. It's not worth it."

"What planet are you from, Hermione? It's _more_ than worth it."

The girl looked up at Draco, appearing almost apologetic.

"I'm sorry," she started. "Ron is… well he's harmless, really."

The blond looked at the sputtering, freckle-faced boy in disdain, then raised an eyebrow at this "Hermione." "You don't say…" he muttered.

She offered out her hand. "I'm Hermione Granger. And you've clearly met Ron Weasley."

Draco wasn't entirely pleased about spending precious minutes making mindless chit-chat when he should have been on the prowl to get back into Harry's pants, but he figured if these two rejects were the boy's mates, then getting chummy with them could only help his cause.

He took Hermione's hand in a firm shake. "Draco Malfoy. Now, would you mind leashing your friend? I've got business to attend to."

Okay, so "chummy" had never been his strong suit but at least he wasn't making enemies. Well, the girl, anyway. Draco was pretty sure Weasley was a lost cause.

Hermione began to tug Ron away by the arm. "Come along, Ron. I'll get you a drink."

"'Mione, I can't believe you! You're just going to let this guy-"

"It's none of our business, Ron!"

As they slipped away, however grudgingly, Draco couldn't help but think how little he was looking forward to spending any sort of time with the two of them.

Getting back on track, Draco perused the crowd again, until he found the object of his fascination. Harry was still with the same bloke, and as the blond observed the pair getting hot and heavy on the dance floor, he realized that if he wanted to catch Harry before he zipped off to a back room, he was running out of time.

"Mind if I cut in?" Draco suggested, taking a slightly over-aggressive grip on the stranger's shoulder.

Startled, the young guy left the crevice of Harry's neck long enough to look up at Draco like he was crazy. "Yeah, I mind a fair bit, actually," he said.

But the raven-haired boy put out a preventive hand when his dance partner tried to pick up where they'd left off. He straightened up slightly and smirked at Draco.

"Well, well, Malfoy, that was fast. I was that good, eh?"

Draco scoffed. "You flatter yourself. Blaise dragged me here."

Harry's smug grin suggested he wasn't fooled. "Sure."

"Hey, mate, do you mind?" Harry's admirer interjected, clearly frustrated by the interruption. "We were kind of in the middle of something."

Before Draco could respond, Harry was suddenly creating distance between them. "Actually, I think I'm going to take a break. And since you don't own me, I'm going to go ahead and presume that's okay," he said with an accusatory snarl.

The third wheel raised his hands in defense, shaking his head. "Whatever." In two seconds, he was gone.

"So how about that drink?" the musician said, turning to Draco.

"What are you on about, Potter?"

"Oh, come off it, Malfoy, we both know you were about to offer."

It was a statement he couldn't argue with; instead, he followed Harry to the bar.

"Two Butter Ales, please Marty," Draco said, tossing down payment with a generous tip.

"Sure thing," the bartender answered cheerily.

"Butter Ale. Nice choice," Harry commented.

Draco grabbed his glass as the bartender set it down and took his first sip. "I know."

He tried not to look at Harry. He even made a point of obviously checking out other guys. Two could play the cocky game.

"So," Harry said, slipping onto a stool. "What is it, exactly, that you do, Malfoy? One of your father's minions I presume?"

Draco scoffed. "Far from it, Potter. Your presumptions are naive."

Harry gestured expectantly. "Care to elaborate?"

At this, Draco looked him the eye. He wasn't sure he was prepared to have this conversation with Potter. "I'm a law intern. Let's leave it at that."

The brunet didn't question Draco's evasiveness. "Law. Wow, I'm not sure if I should be impressed, or bored."

"Bored?" Draco repeated, insulted.

"Well, blokes with flashy jobs tend to get a little cocky- But now I just expect more from you. You just raised your own bar."

Draco shot him a look of disbelief, which, despite his efforts, turned into an amused grin. "A little cocky? You're one to talk, you high maintenance little shit."

Harry shrugged. "Just tired of putting up with people's crap. I filter to avoid wasting my time."

"Hmm…" Draco hummed. "Well, I guess I can't fault you for that." He looked around, and caught sight of Blaise, chatting up a couple of bottle-blondes. Draco shivered at the sheer profusion of make-up that smothered their equally mediocre faces, and the blatant competition they were having to see who could be the first to get arrested for indecent exposure. Maybe the women wanted to blow a cop in the back of his patrol cruiser more than they wanted Blaise. Their flirtatious giggling was nauseating and Draco couldn't contain an irritated sigh. _How incredibly undignified_, he thought.

Harry chuckled. "A little revolting isn't it?"

"That's the understatement of the year," Draco sneered. He finished his beer in a final large gulp. "I hate straight bars."

"Been to The Rooster?"

"The men's club down on Grimmauld? Once or twice," Draco confirmed. "I've had some pretty memorable nights there; or at least, nights that _started _there."

"Let's go then."

Draco looked at Harry in question. "What?"

"We should go. It's barely five minute's walk. The bartender there is always giving me free drinks and the dance music's bloody good-not this bollocks. Plus," he added with a grin, "there are go-go boys.

Draco gave a light laugh and gestured to the door. "Lead the way, then," he said. "I'll meet you by the door. I'll just let Blaise know I'm ditching him. Not like he'll miss me."

"He should come. We might be able to turn him," Harry joked.

Draco laughed. "Impossible. Trust me, he's straighter than a number two pencil." With a smirk, he headed in his friend's direction.

"Sorry for the interruption, _ladies_," he said, positive the slags had no understanding of the sarcasm that was dripping from his tone. He gave them a forced smile and then looked to Blaise. "Zabini, I'm outta here."

Blaise's expression fell. "That bad, eh? See, I told you-should've played by the three day rule. But don't leave, I'm sure we can find-"

"No, no, I'm leaving _with_ him." Draco finished, cutting him off. "We're going to the Rooster."

"Ah," Blaise said with a nod. "The Land of _Your_ Kind. Gotchya."


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks a million to my amazing beta sordid_humors! YOU ARE TERRIFIC!**

**Chapter 4**

Draco was relieved when they got to the club. It had started to rain as they were walking over, which he found considerably displeasing but the April showers had soaked Harry's sleeveless tee and the wet fabric clung to his body. Draco found _that_ considerably pleasing.

When they got inside, the blond tried desperately to fix his damp hair in the reflection of the windows.

"Relax, yeah?" Harry said, flinging the water droplets out of his own scruffy hair with a few shakes of his head. "You look fit. Besides, you'll be sweating soon anyway."

"Malfoy's don't sweat, Potter," he rebuked with a tiny sneer.

Harry rolled his eyes and grabbed Draco's wrist, pulling him away from the doors. "They do when they're grinding with me," he quipped.

As they stepped past coat-check and through the doors of the club, a few guys nearby cheered at the sight of Harry.

"Oi! Potter, mate, how are ya?" a particularly friendly Irishman greeted.

"Hey, Seamus, good to see you," Harry smiled.

As they kept moving through the crowd, more people seemed to be taking notice... Just not of Draco. It felt odd; He was usually the centre of attention when he walked into a men's bar.

"Fuck! it's the bloke from Wandless Magic!" someone shouted.

A particularly flamboyant young fellow slipped an arm around Harry's waist. "Hey there, gorgeous. How've you been?"

Harry chuckled. "Can't complain, Alex," he replied with a smile.

They continued on and after plenty more chummy hand-shakes and not-so-subtle staring at Potter's bum, they finally made it to the bar.

Draco was giving Harry an incredulous look.

"What?" The brunet questioned.

"Is there _anywhere_ you aren't considered a celebrity?"

Harry laughed. "Er, Hollywood?"

Draco rolled his eyes, and gestured to the bartender, a gangly young guy with big teeth and uneven skin. "Can I get a-"

"Evenin' 'Arry!" the bartender greeted in excitement, ignoring Draco.

"Stan, how are you?" Harry replied with a friendly handshake over the bar.

The bartender beamed. "Great, thanks fer askin'. Can I get ya som'fin?

"Gin and Tonic, please. And he's with me," Harry said, gesturing towards Draco.

"Oh, 'ey ther' mate, didn' see ya. Wha' can I get fer ya?"

Draco waved a hand flippantly. "Same thing is fine."

"Comin' righ' up!"

When he came back with the drinks, he refused Harry's money. "On the 'ouse, as usual, mate. Same goes fer yer sexy blond mate o'er 'ere."

They thanked him and he left to help some other customers.

"So Potter, what about your father?" Draco started, returning to the topic they had been on earlier. "Does he expect you to follow in his footsteps? Or are you a mama's boy?"

"Both my parents are dead."

Draco's eyes grew wide. "Oh, I-I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Harry said. "It was a long time ago. My dad was an MI5 officer so I didn't exactly take after him in the career field, but I'm told I look exactly like him. And that I have his temperament. Apparently I get my creative side from my Mum."

Draco nodded. "Did they know about you being gay?"

Harry shook his head. "Not unless I was the most flamboyant one year-old in existence," he joked, in an effort to keep the conversation light.

"They died when you were only one?"

"Yup."

Draco didn't quite know what to say. He hadn't exactly had the warmest of childhoods-his parents had been cold and strict, and had felt more like authority than family, but he couldn't imagine never having them as a part of his life. He wanted to ask who Harry had grown up with, but was concerned he was asking too many questions. Thankfully, Harry broke the silence.

"What about you? Did you come out to your parents?"

"Yeah," Draco nodded, grimacing at the memory. "When I was 16. It's a significant contributing factor to why my father and I aren't exactly on speaking terms. Mother wasn't so bad. She accepted it but she'd rather not talk about it. I think she likes to pretend she doesn't know."

"Do you regret it?"

"No. Not at all. I don't believe in hiding the truth."

The brunet raised a playful brow, a twinkle lighting his emerald eyes. "That's ironic, considering you're going to be a lawyer."

Draco smirked. "Not a defense lawyer, Potter. Well, I don't plan to be, anyway. I'd rather spend my time prosecuting the people who deserve it."

"You would," Harry smiled knowingly.

Before Draco could jump to his own defense, Harry laughed. "Come on," he said, taking the almost-empty glass out of the blond's hand and finishing the last dregs. He grabbed Draco's hand, tugging him off his stool. "I like this song."

As Harry led him onto the dance floor by his fingertips, Draco was enthralled with the sight of the brunet's lithe frame rolling in slow and subtle s-curves with the pulse of the thumping base. He had incredible rhythm and his movements were intoxicating.

_I wanna kiss you,_

_But if I do then I might miss you babe,_

_It's complicated and stupid,_

_Got my ass squeezed by sexy cupid,_

_Guess he wants to play, wants to play,_

_A love game, a love game._

When they reached a clear spot on the dance floor, Harry twisted around, his fingers still linked with Draco's. He slid in deliciously close, rolling his hips into the other boy's groin as they settled into the music. It didn't take much coaxing for Draco to pulse with him to its beat. Aside from his first night with the boy, Draco had never before found dancing so incredibly erotic. The sexy, raven-haired fireball knew how to move like nobody's business. The way he used his body was remarkable. It was probably part of why he was so fantastic in bed.

Leaning in close, Harry brought his hot tongue up to flick the blond's earlobe. Draco sucked in a heavy breath, his stomach knotting with anticipation and excitement. He brought a strong hand up Harry's back, his fingers splayed firmly into his skin.

_Let's have some fun, this beat is sick,_

_I wanna take a ride on your disco stick._

_Don't think too much, just bust that stick,_

_I wanna take a ride on your disco stick._

Draco let go of Harry's hand and brought his fingers to the boy's waistband, teasing the warm skin below his belly button. Draco's chest was on fire now, filling with lust faster than a fourteen-year old boy seeing porn for the first time. For a second he just stared at Harry, whose eyes were hooded with arousal, then he leaned in, too quickly for the shorter boy to pull away. He caught Harry's lower lip between his teeth, and was encouraged by the pleasure-filled moan his own skill evoked from the brunet. It was enough to get Harry to close his mouth over Draco's, firm and lascivious.

_Let's play a lovegame_

_Play a lovegame_

_Do you want love?_

_Or you want fame?_

_Are you in the game?_

_Doin' the lovegame_

Swiftly losing grip of reality, Draco reached around Harry with both hands and, with a firm hold on his ass, pulled the boy even tighter against his body. He felt Harry smirk against his lips, then clear from his grasp. Harry turned to face away from Draco, pressing his butt into the blond's hips. Draco licked his lips and gripped Harry's sides as the boy leaned back against his chest, still swaying with the music. Aching with desire, Draco dropped his mouth down to Harry's neck. Leaving dark, wet marks on his skin, he slipped a hand underneath the front of his t-shirt. The musician's stomach was firm and the skin there, so pleasantly warm. He felt Harry begin to pant as he slid his hand up the other boy's chest. Draco felt himself on the brink of losing control again as he curled his fingernails into the brunet's soft skin, biting down on Harry's shoulder.

_I'm on a mission_

_And it involves some heavy touching, yeah_

_You've indicated your interest_

_I'm educated in sex, yes_

_And now I want it bad, want it bad_

_A lovegame, a lovegame_

With force, Draco spun the boy around, aware that Harry was tormenting him on purpose. He thrust his pelvis into Harry's and once again claimed his lips. He darted a desperate tongue into the caverns of Harry's hot mouth... and moaned. He was over-exciting himself.

"Fuck, Potter. Let's get outta here."

"So soon?" Harry teased.

"Shut up, you git," Draco warned, planting another heavy kiss on the boy. "I wanna pound into that ass. _Now_," he growled.

"Well, since you asked so nicely..."

~.~.~

Draco was splayed naked on the living room hardwood of his flat, with an enthusiastic, and it had to be said, incredibly talented brunet, deep throating his long, impossibly hard cock. As Harry pulled on the blond's scrotum, Draco yanked at his own hair in ecstasy. The boy-who-had-no-gag-reflex had been devouring his member for a good ten minutes and Draco wasn't sure how much more of it he could take. He had to finish inside this beautiful boy's ass. He just had to.

Without warning, he dragged Harry up towards his face by the scruff of his t-shirt. Draco swiftly removed the garment and flipped him onto his back, crushing that smaller body beneath the weight of his own. He tore at Harry's belt buckle and ripped off his jeans and pants in seconds, pausing to revel in the moment their bare erections rubbed together.

Draco leaned in to kiss him again. "You," he muttered as he came up for air. "Give amazing head."

Harry grinned devilishly, an indescribable spark in his eyes. "So, I've been told."

Draco's silver eyes clouded over to a deep grey. Overwhelmed with a feeling of possession, he stood up, pulling Harry up with him. He all but picked the smaller boy up and threw him over the arm of the sofa, slapping his ass and leaving a pink mark on that pale skin.

Harry gasped at the sharp contact and Draco knelt down and brought his hot mouth to the red mark that he'd left. Harry groaned at the sensation-groaned in realization and frazzled, needy anticipation.

Parting the crack of Harry's perfectly sculpted backside, Draco darted his tongue between the boy's cheeks, just barely grazing his tight, exposed hole. Harry squirmed at the initial touch and instinctively bucked back against Draco's tongue, begging for more.

Draco pushed back on Harry, forcing him to stay put and wait for Draco to give him what he wanted. Tantalizingly slowly, Draco used the tip of his tongue to stroke up and down over Harry's entrance, sending shivers up the other boy's spine. When he thought he'd teased enough, he pushed a firm tongue into Harry's hole. Harry cried out in pleasure.

"Fuck, Malfoy, fuck! That's so fucking good."

Bolstered by such verbal encouragement, Draco thrust his tongue into Harry a few more times-reveling in his invigorating musky taste-before he reached for Harry's seeping cock and used the pre cum there to lubricate his fingers. He got back to his feet, and thrust two eager fingers into Harry's hot , eager entrance. Draco himself moaned at the pressure. He was beyond the point of turned on.

He scissored his fingers to help prepare Harry, then reached for his jeans and retrieved a condom and the small package of lube he'd shoved into the back pocket before leaving his place only a few hours ago. After a few careful stabs at Harry's prostate, earning himself a few gratified whimpers, he withdrew from Harry and sheathed his throbbing erection with the condom.

Draco was quick and messy with the lube, anxious beyond all reason to be fucking the boy senseless-which is exactly what he did. With relish. He pounded into Harry so hard, that he was almost positive the slapping of his balls against the brunet's backside could be heard from the street below. He pummeled him with such intensity, that when Harry let out a piercing wail, he was struck with sudden panic, deeply concerned that he'd done the boy serious damage. He slowed considerably, nearly stopping.

"Are-are you okay?" he managed to get out, startled by just how out of breathe he was. "God, Harry, I'm sorry-"

Harry was panting, but shook his head. "No, it's fine, Draco. Don't stop. Please don't stop."

Draco obliged, as he could feel his climax ebbing away with each frozen second. But he brought a hand under Harry's chest, inclining him to stand and bring his back to Draco's body. As he did, the blond brought a knee up to rest on the sofa's arm and continued at a much slower pace. He pushed into Harry as deeply and smoothly as he could, clutching at the brunet's chest with damp hands. He remained nuzzled in Harry's neck, breathing in the closeness of their contact, the way their bodies, beaded with sweat, slid against each other in slick waves.

Harry's sighs grew faster as Draco adjusted his pace to shorter, quicker thrusts. He clung to Harry's heaving body in a forceful grip and his muscles tensed even further as he approached his climax. Harry reached down to stroke his own cock, and within seconds was shooting all over the sofa. But Draco didn't care in the slightest, because he was then exploding into Harry, his entire body trembling.

For many long, satisfied moments, neither of them moved, consumed with exhaustion and the aftershocks of pleasure. Draco dropped soft, tired kisses on Harry's neck and shoulder's, lightly caressing his sides with still sweaty palms. It was a surprisingly intimate moment-which was something they had yet to really share.

Harry let Draco slip from his backside, and turned in his arms. His eyes were warm and bright, despite their sleepy and satiated droop. The softest, sweetest smile graced his lips. He held Draco's face with both his hands and leaned in for a slow, passionate kiss.

Slightly dazed, Draco blinked as the brunet retreated. But then, Harry was out of his arms and retrieving his clothing, piece by piece.

Draco mimed his actions, but his head was still elsewhere, drifting somewhere very far away. He managed to locate and slip on his pants.

"By the way, are you really okay? I didn't-I mean, I don't know what came over me."

Harry gave him a genuine smile. "Relax, Malfoy. I'm okay. I just had incredible sex. I'm more than okay."

Hearing him use his surname, made Draco realize that in the throws of passion, they had, for the first time, called each other by their given names. He didn't dwell on the thought-but he did have a weird feeling in his chest; a certain, tightness that he'd never before experienced after sex. He couldn't quite place it.

Just then, the door swung open to reveal a slightly buzzed-looking Blaise, with a half finished bottle of beer in his hand.

He stopped in his tracks, startled to see not one, but two half-naked blokes in his living room.

"Well then," he started after a moment. "I guess I'm too late for the party." He closed the door behind him and sauntered into the kitchen.

Draco had no issues with being barely dressed around his friend. They had known each other far too long for it to even matter, but his eyes darted to Harry in brief concern; fortunately, Potter seemed unfazed, his dark head bent as he finished fastening his jeans.

"You're alone," Draco pointed out. "And nearly sober. What happened?"

Blaise shrugged. "Got bored. Figured you wouldn't be home, I'd order a stripper."

Draco glared at him.

"I'm kidding!" Blaise laughed. "Strippers are disgusting." Then he looked to Harry, who had picked up his shirt but hadn't bothered with putting it on. "Blaize Zabini," the Italian said, approaching Harry from the kitchen and offering his hand.

Harry took it with a small smile. "Harry P-"

"Potter," Blaise finished for him. "I know who you are."

Harry returned Blaise's grin. "Well, I'll be out of your hair in two minutes, I was just leaving." He made to lift his shirt over his head, but Draco stopped him with a hand on the fabric. He pulled in close, turning so his back was to Blaise.

"Stay," he said softly.

"Wot?" Harry asked.

"You heard me. Stay." Draco repeated.

Harry frowned. "I'm flattered, but I really don't think I'll be having sex for a few days, much less tomorrow morning."

Draco winced in guilt. He knew he had to have hurt him in at least a minor capacity, despite the boy's vehement denial. He shook his head.

"No, no. It's not that," Draco said. He tentatively fingered Harry's belt loops, tugging at them in an effort to invite the boy closer. "You should just... stay." At Harry's perplexed look, he figured he had to come up with a better excuse. "I have to make you a proper fry-up, at least. You eat like a chav."

At that, Harry laughed. "Bribing me with food, hmm? A wise card to play," he smirked. "Okay, fine. I'll stay."

He brought his lips to Draco's for a soft kiss; again, the blond felt as though he'd been holding his breath. Pulling away, he was left bemused and slightly light-headed.

"Where's the bathroom?"

"Er, there's one off my bedroom," Draco stammered, pointing in the right direction.

As Harry left the room, Blaise stared at Draco in shock. He put down his beer, and gestured blatantly.

"Uh, mate, what the bloody hell was that?"

"What was what?" Draco asked, trying to relocate his centre of gravity.

Blaise's eyes grew wider. "Uh... the fuckin' _Titanic_, 'I'll never let you go' swoony moment you two just had?"

Draco glowered at him but quickly set about gathering the rest of his clothes to hide the blush that was creeping up his neck. "I have no idea what you're on about," he mumbled, red-faced.

"Drake! What are you doing?" Blaise nearly bellowed. "Are you falling for this guy?"

Draco shushed him, waving his hands. "Would you keep your sodding voice down? No, I'm not falling for him, you barmy git. Mind out."

His friend scoffed. "How's Egypt, by the way? Because you're in DENIAL."

"Shut your gob," the blond demanded. "And you're not funny. That's a terrible cliché. Besides, I barely know the guy."

The Italian smirked. "Really? Because the screaming I heard from the street suggests otherwise. Although, when I heard it, I didn't have the slightest idea it was you two-thought it was what's-her-name on fifth floor and her boyfriend playing rape again. What were you _doing_ to him?"

Draco rolled his eyes with and shot Blaise an irritated snarl. "Fucking. You should try it sometime." With that, he stormed to his room after Harry and slammed the door.


	5. Chapter 5

***A/N: Many gracious thanks to my fantastic beta sordid_humors! I heart u!****

**Chapter 5**

Silver eyes stared unseeingly at the ceiling, as they had for the past four sleepless hours. Try as he might, Draco couldn't shut off his brain. He couldn't stop replaying the previous night's events over and over in his head, nor could he get Blaise's irritating voice out of his head.

Draco groaned and rubbed his face with his hands. He could practically feel the dark circles forming under his eyes. He was going to murder Zabini.

He started when he felt a light touch on his arm, lowering his hands from his eyes to see that he had woken Potter.

"Wha'sa matter?" the brunet blinked blearily at him, his voice raspy with sleep.

Draco kicked himself for letting the boy see him fret. "Nothing," he lied. "Just can't sleep."

"Really? I thought you'd sleep like a rock after tonight's performance. That's a shit ton of stamina you've got there."

The blond pulled a face. "Hardly. I'm exhausted."

Harry closed his eyes and rolled over, draping an arm across Draco's chest. He lazily nusled into the man's side, his is fingers tracing absentminded trails on the Draco's ivory skin. "Herbal tea..." he breathed, barely audible.

His warm breath ghosted over Draco's nipple, making his skin tingle. "Pardon?"

Harry cleared his throat. "Mmmtea," he mumbled. "Always helps me sleep."

Draco considered this, but as he watched Potter slip back into slumber, he didn't have the heart to move and wake him again. Ever so carefully, he brushed his fingers through the smaller man's thick dark hair. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of him, the warm body curled up against his own. He focused on the gentle sounds of Potter's breathing, and slowly he too began to drift off...

~.~.~

Surprisingly, Draco woke with a warm feeling in his chest, as if completely rested. He supposed he slept pretty well once he'd managed to fall asleep. He'd actually been quite comfortable with someone snuggling up to him.

Snuggling. Potter. Oh God.

Draco's eyes shot open, everything rushing back to him in one overpowering wave-heavy breathing, pleasured cries, tender kisses...and Potter, asleep in his arms.

There was a light on in the en-suite bathroom and Draco could hear the sound of the faucet running.

He propped himself up on an elbow, squinting at the clock. 11:31.

Just then, the door clicked open and Potter stepped out, fully dressed but his hair dripping, glistening beads trailing down his neck. His T-shirt clung to his damp skin which was blushed slightly pink from the hot water.

"Hey," he said when he saw Draco awake, meeting those silver eyes only fleetingly. "I used your shower, I hope that's okay."

"Yeah, of course," Draco replied. He noticed right away that the sensitive Potter that had stolen Draco's breath with an out of character kiss, the Potter who had agreed to stay over, and had spent the night curled up next to Draco's side, was long gone. He was back to regular blasé Potter, showing no signs of having ever acted any differently. He grabbed his watch from the night stand and slipped it on his wrist.

"You in a hurry?" Draco asked. Not that he cared. Why should he? In fact, Harry was already outstaying his welcome.

Harry nodded. "Kind of, yeah. I'm meeting with Ron."

Draco frowned. "I thought I was supposed to teach you to eat like a civilized human being..." Damn-it. He hadn't meant to bring that up. He didn't care, remember?

Harry grinned, shoving his keys in his pocket. "Sorry, we slept pretty late. I guess I'll have to get by 'til next time."

Next time? So there would be a "next time"? But he didn't ask; instead, he shrugged.

"Well, I don't have much to heat up on the run. I think there's a bowl of fruit in the kitchen.

Harry made a face. "_Way_ too healthy.

"Too healthy? " Draco asked, appalled. "How on _earth_ do you look the way you do?"

The brunet laughed. "I don't have much of an appetite. And I work out five days a week."

"Hmm..." Draco wasn't the 'working-out' type. He had an obsession with eating healthy, but with his metabolism, he'd probably stay slim even if he didn't. But he avoided the gym at all costs – he loathed the stale, sticky smell of the locker rooms, and he wasn't too fond of sweating, unless of course, it was during sex.

"You stay in bed. I can show myself out." Harry was half way out of the bedroom door already.

"Wait," Draco called after him. He studied Harry as the boy turned back around, his hand braced lightly against the doorframe, waiting. He noted just how flawless the young man was; he practically radiated perfection, for Christ's sake. Draco fought the temptation to roll his eyes. _Fucking ridiculous. No one should be that good-looking,_ he thought. He bit his tongue.

"I think Blaise has some Pop Tarts in the cupboard above the fridge," he finally said.

The raven-haired boy grinned. "Perfect."

And then he was gone, leaving Draco wondering why he felt slightly sick to his stomach.

~.~.~

The next week was miserable. He couldn't focus at work and he couldn't stand being in his own apartment because Blaise was always there berating him about Potter. Draco, who had failed to get the boy's number again, refused to go back into the Room of Requirement.

"No way," he had blurted when Blaise suggested he go on the upcoming weekend. "I can't go in there looking for him again. I'm not desperate."

Blaise gave his friend a thorough once over, taking note of the bags beneath his eyes and his mildly wrinkled shirt and loose tie. It may have been normal for some people, but it was beyond rare for the Malfoy he knew so well.

"Yeah," he intoned. "Somehow I doubt that. You look like you haven't slept in days."

"I didn't ask you for your opinion, Zabini," Draco spat.

Blaise sighed. "No, but you need it. It comes with the friend territory. Listen, you have to at least go out and distract yourself. Go find some gagging little twink and have your way with him. At least that will take care of_ some_ of your frustration."

Draco sighed, knowing Blaise was probably right. "Okay fine," he surrendered. Then he grinned, struck with an idea. "Hey...why don't you come with me?"

"Where?"

"To the gay bar."

"Hmmm," Blaise pretended to consider before snorting loudly. "Not happening."

"Hey, I come with you to the straight bar _all_ the time. You don't see me complaining."

"Please," the Italian scoffed. "You never _stop_ complaining. About anything. Ever. Besides, a poof in a straight bar is so not the same thing as a straight bloke in a gay bar."

Draco crossed his arms. "Oh? And how is it different?"

"Are you kidding?" Blaise said, wide eyed. "Gays _love_ straight blokes. Don't ask me why, I've got no fuckin' clue. But if I go in there and they realize I like titts, it'll be like moths to a flame. Except instead of moths, it'll be a hundred horny benders and instead of a flame, it'll be me." He shot Draco a pointed look. "They'll all try to turn me by bending me over. Trust me, I have you as a best mate to prove it."

The blond dropped his jaw. "_Excuse me?_ I have never tried to _turn_ you, you self-righteous git."

"HAH!" Blaise bellowed, pointing an accusatory finger at his friend. "You so, _so_, have, you blagging little wanker! High school. When we went back to your place after a party and you started to disrobe in front of me? Ringing any bells?"

"I always 'disrobe' in front of you," Draco mocked. "You know I don't give a shit."

"Yeah, but you don't always turn it into a _strip tease_, and throw yourself at me."

"That never happened!" Draco snorted.

"Oh, really?" Blaise remarked. "You mean you don't remember throwing me against a wall and shoving your tongue down my throat?"

Draco's mouth opened to retort, but suddenly an image flashed in his head. Two teenage boys, slurring and giddy, faces red with intoxication, laughing hysterically as they tripped over scattered shoes in the main entrance. The images were blurry, but he saw the blond one start to do a rather embarrassing dance, taking off his shirt and twirling it over his head as they stumbled into the living room. He turned around and flaunted his ass in the other teen's direction, who stood there looking perplexed, but still laughing in his drunken stupor. The image flashed again, and suddenly the young blond had grabbed the other boy by the scruff of his neck, smashed his back into a wall, and forced a sloppy but enthusiastic kiss on his mouth.

"Oh...God..." Draco mumbled, knowing very well that that young blond had been him, what felt like ages ago.

"And there it is," Blaise said, seeing recollection dawn on his friend's elegant and pointed features.

Draco gave a nervous laugh. "Wow, that's archaic. Well, I was horny and smashed. What can you expect? I wasn't getting much action back then."

"And due to your inexplicable hang up on Potter, you aren't now either. I'm not going to poof central with you. I don't feel like getting molested all over again." With that out of the way, he opened the fridge in search of a snack.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Blaise, you know very well that would never happen again."

"Says the guy who tried to argue that it didn't happen at all."

"Arg," Draco huffed in frustration. "You know what I mean. You're my best friend, and practically my brother. I couldn't possibly go there with you."

Blaise pursed his lips as he closed the fridge door. "Okay...but it's not just you I'm concerned about. I'm going to be surrounded by lashed twinks, all wanting a piece of this shit," he said, gesturing down his own body. He took a bite out of the carrot he'd pulled from the fridge.

"You'll be fine. Besides, there will very likely be straight birds there."

Blaise frowned. "What?" he asked, his mouth still full, spewing little chunks of orange. "Why?"

Draco raised an elegant eyebrow at the specs of carrot Blaise had sprayed on the counter. "Nice," he mumbled. He shook his head and continued. "Ever heard of a fag-hag?"

Blaise frowned. "Should I have?"

"You're Italian," Draco put an impatient hand on his hip. He really shouldn't have to explain this. "_Ill cicisbeo._ Ladies love a queer bloke-they know we'd rather die than get between their legs. Makes them feel safe or some shit like that. Trust me, you'll find someone."

This seemed to appease Blaise, and he grudgingly agreed.

But that night at The Shack, Draco's favorite gay bar, he was beginning to wish he hadn't.

"Draaaaake," Blaise whined. "That big guy in the corner is giving me the eye."

The pair were sitting at the bar, Draco sloshing the remnants of his forth drink around in the bottom of his glass. He looked over his shoulder and saw a slab of beefcake, huge pecs and biceps bursting from his exceedingly small baby blue t-shirt. Draco couldn't quite read it from where he was sitting, but he was fairly certain the sparkly letters on the tee read 'Juicy'.

Draco laughed out loud. "Nice. I say go for it. I bet he would show you a good time. Looks like he could really throw you around."

Blaise glared at Draco in horror. "Malfoy, I am never coming out with you, ever, ever again."

The blond giggled. Giggled? Wow, maybe this was his fifth drink.

"Oh, come off it Zabini. No one's even hit on you yet."

"…You're right…" Blaise said, a frown developing on his face. "Oh my God, why hasn't anyone hit on me yet?" he was suddenly distressed. "I'm hot shit. Why aren't these guys all over me?"

"Relax, idiot," Draco laughed. "It's probably because you're sitting with me." He waved to the bartender to pour him another drink. The man gave him a slightly concerned look, but poured him another anyway. "I have a bit of a reputation of losing my shit if someone hits on a guy I'm talking to. They have all learned not to bother."

Blaise pouted. "Well, that doesn't seem fair. Maybe you should sit over there."

Draco gave him an incredulous look. "Are you serious? Now you're complaining about not being hit on by raging homosexuals? What's your issue?"

"Well… It's just a bit of a shot at my ego." At this, he grinned.

"You're a moron."

They kept the drinks coming, and it wasn't long, before they were both completely smashed, laughing boisterously from their seats, getting both amused and curious looks from their onlookers. Blaise had actually spotted a few straight girls, (you could always tell them apart from the lesbians because they were the only ones wearing truck loads of makeup and sparkly stick-on nails), but shockingly, he didn't bother going after them. Maybe it was the influence of the alcohol, but he was having way too much fun scrutinizing potential hook-ups for Draco, and cracking immature jokes.

Tears of mirth were rolling down Draco's face, which was rosy with laughter. He gasped for breath as Blaise hopped up and down in his seat like an excited child.

"Oooh, oooh, wha' abou' him?" he asked, pointing at a guy who'd just walked out of the bathroom, sporting skin tight leopard print pants and a pink feather boa. They both watched him for a second, then made eye contact with each other and burst out laughing.

Catching his breath, Draco waved enthusiastically at the bartender, Willie. "OnemoreCHHAAAMP!" he bellowed.

The man chuckled. "I think you boys have had enough."

Blaise pulled a face. "AwwwwwMAN. Ya can' DO this ta us WILLIE!" he slurred. "Pwease Wiwwy Biwwy? Jus' one morreeee?"

The bartender sighed. "Okay. One more. And only if you promise to stop speaking in baby-talk."

Draco snorted. "I sssecond tha'."

"Wow, you two seem to be having a good time."

The voice came from behind them, and the two friends spun around (albeit, too quickly, because they both nearly fell over in their seats).

The petite brunet was observing them with amused eyes, from underneath long, thick lashes.

"HEYA, POTTER!" Blaise shouted. "Aren' youlookin' migh'yfine."

And he was. He was again wearing his black baseball cap, which was apparently a staple in his wardrobe, and he approached them with hands casually shoved in his jean pockets. Draco hated how delicious he looked.

"Wha're you doin' here, Potterrrr?" His attempts to sound sober were pathetically unsuccessful. "I thought you'd be playin' with yer silly band."

Harry eyed Draco curiously. "I was, but it's 1 am. We finished hours ago."

Draco huffed and Blaise laughed. "Don't mind good ol' Drakie, here. He's jus' feelin' a lil' hostile towards you this fine evenin'."

"I can see that," Harry noted with a grin. "Any idea why?" he asked Blaise.

"Mind yer own business, Potter," Draco spat, swaying a little in his seat. "I didn't expec' ta see you here. Thought you'd be at the Rooster, since yer _soooo_ popular over there."

"Er, it's men's only, and Hermione came with us tonight."

"Wha'ever."

Harry gave Blaise a questioning look, as Draco turned and took another swig from his glass.

Blaise leaned towards the brunet, grabbing the boy's shoulder to steady himself, and whispered behind the back of his hand. "Me thinks 'e's mad you didn' call."

Harry frowned. "I don't even have his number."

"Me thinks 'e's mad you didn' get 'is number."

Draco, who had been too busy staring into his drink to notice they were talking about him, eventually clued in and spun to glare at Blaise. "Zabini, if you don' shut the fuck up, I'm gonna hafta kill you."

"Hah, I'd like to see you try, drunkie," Blaise taunted.

"Yer one to talk."

"Now, now boys. Play nice," Harry teased.

Draco glowered at him. "Go away, Potter." He went to take another sip of his drink, but only ice fell against his teeth. He glared at the glass in loathing, as if it was its fault it was empty, it's fault that Potter had showed up and ruined a perfectly good night, it's fault that Potter looked so damn good...

"Malfoy, I didn't realize it was a big deal. I figured I'd run into you again."

The blond just turned to glare at him but said nothing.

Looking back and forth between Draco and Potter, Blaise let out a low whistle. "Okay I think this awkward silence is my cue to go an' get myself raped I the loo. Ta."

He hopped off the stool and disappeared.

Now that the exuberant atmosphere had completely dissolved, Draco was beginning to feel painfully sober, although he knew he was far from it. He rubbed his head and tried not to look at the sexy man who took Blaise's place on the stool next to him.

Harry cocked his head to the side slightly, watching Draco with a curious expression.

Draco could feel the boy's gaze and he glanced over. "What, Potter?

Harry shrugged and leaned against the bar, cracking his knuckles. "You don't seem the type."

Draco flinched at the sound and glared at Harry's hands. "Don't do that. And I don't seem what type?"

"The dating type."

Silver eyes cut to Harry in a flash, looking furious. "What are you on about? Don't make a complete arse of yourself, Potter. You don't know what I am."

Harry lifted a brow, looking unconcerned, as usual. "You're right, I don't. Who you really are seems to elude me."

Draco almost laughed. He could say the exact same thing about Potter. He was frustrating and near impossible to read.

"Okay, pass me your wallet," Harry ordered.

"Pardon?"

Harry held out his left hand. "Your wallet. Give it here."

Draco couldn't believe his ears. "You think I'm a moron? So, what, you're going to insult me and then rob me?

Harry scoffed. "Fuck, you're difficult, Malfoy." He held up his right arm, palm open, as if taking an oath. "I solemnly swear on both my parent's graves that I will return your wallet, intact." He smirked, waiting for Draco to oblige.

Heaving an aggravated sigh, Draco retrieved his wallet from his pocket and placed it in Potter's waiting hand. He watched through narrowed eyes as Harry opened it up and leafed through one of the pockets. Finding what he was looking for, he started to pull it out while calling to the bartender. "Can I borrow a pen from you, Willie?"

He handed Draco back his wallet and held up what he had retrieved. It was one of Draco's business cards.

"Can I have this?"

Malfoy shrugged. "Not that you'll use it."

The brunet rolled his eyes. "You're such a martyr, blondie."

Draco shot him a glare, but Harry didn't notice because by now the bartender had passed him a pen and he was ripping the card in half. Malfoy watched the boy suspiciously as he wrote in the white space of one half, sliding it across the counter to Draco.

Scrawled on it in cramped, messy writing, was a phone number.

Harry pocketed the other half that still held Draco's contacts intact.

"I don't date, Malfoy. Not as a general rule, anyway. I fuck, I have fun and I focus on my music. It's what works for me right now. And I'd be surprised if that changed any time soon."

"So, what the hell am I supposed to do with this?" Draco demanded.

Harry grinned and slipped off the stool. He closed the space between them with a few slow steps, and Draco watched him through narrowed eyes. The man slipped a warm hand up Draco's thigh and leaned in, planting a soft, hot kiss on Draco's still lips.

The blond sat frozen, eyes fluttering shut as he dragged in a weak breath when Harry pulled away again.

The corners of Potter's lips pulled up into a soft grin. "Surprise me," was his only answer. With a suggestive wink, he slipped off into the crowd.

**A/N: **Okay, so in case you are wondering cicisbesimo was a practice in 18th & 19th century Italy in which noble women had "gay boyfriends" sanctioned or even encouraged by their husbands. They dragged their gay boyfriends everywhere and sometimes the man would even move in with the family. The practice became vogue in England during the 19th century. Bisexual poet Lord Byron was a cicisbeo at one point. Crazy right?


	6. Chapter 6

****Miss sordid_humors, thank you for being such a terrific beta and e-friend =D ** **

**Song used in this chapter is Pain, by Three Days Grace. I am just borrowing the lyrics and am not making any money off it :) If you haven't listened to it, I suggest you do, just to get a feel for the tone of the story :) **  
**.com/watch?v=Ud4HuAzHEUc **

**Ciao!**

**Chapter 6**

There was an obnoxious sound-something vibrating against a hard surface-and an irritating, steadily blinking blue light. Draco groaned and he rolled over onto his side.

It was Thursday night and Draco had gone to bed relatively early. After what had happened at The Shack, he had made it his mission not to think about Potter. Stupid Potter. Stupid, confusing, gorgeous, Potter. He'd actually managed relatively well but he found himself sleeping a lot more because, well, dreaming didn't count as thinking.

He still hadn't heard a peep from the boy and, despite having his number on the ripped business card that he kept neatly tucked in his wallet, he refused to use it. Potter probably already thought he was a pathetic sap and calling him would only make it worse.

He was disturbed by the loud vibrating sound again. The flashing light was seeping through his closed lids. He frowned as he started to regain consciousness. What was that?

He forced open his heavy lids and blinked against his fuzzy vision. His eyes found the clock. 11:16 PM. Realizing what had woken him, he reached for the night stand to grab his phone and read the words appearing on the display. _1 New Message._

He flipped it open, and squinted at the bright LCD screen.

_From: Potter, H._

_- Hey, come to my show tonight._

_Sent: 11:13 pm_

Draco just stared at the screen a good two minutes before turning onto his back and replying to the text.

_- Tonight? It's late._

He got a reply within moments.

_- It's a midnight showing at The Rooster. You should come._

_- Why?_

_- You want to see me, dont u?_

_- I dont care._

_- Yes you do. I'll see you soon._

Draco cursed to himself. He spent about ten minutes debating where to tell the little fucker to shove it. It's not like he'd had the courtesy to provide Draco with advanced notice. Maybe he had plans for tonight? Maybe he had a date or tickets to something fabulous. Never mind that he was going to bed early like the lonely loser he was. How much could Potter possibly want him there if he was only texting now, barely an hour before hand?

Then Draco got up, as he knew he would, and hopped in the shower. He was in and out in five minutes, selecting a decent outfit as quickly as possible. He avoided the mirror for the most part. He figured that would be best, if he didn't want to start second guessing himself and wasting time.

On his cab ride down, his phone buzzed again.

_From: Potter, H._

_- Come round back. I'll get you in._

Just as Draco closed his phone, the cab pulled over.

"11.60 please, sir."

He quickly paid and thanked the driver, heading down the dark grungy alley to the back of the building. As he turned the corner he saw Potter leaning casually against the brick wall by the back door, smoking. The sharp clicking of his Draco's expensive shoes on the pavement made Harry look up.

"You made it."

Draco nodded as he approached, feeling a little uncomfortable. His fingers curled anxiously in his pockets. The last time he'd seen Potter, he'd been tanked. He was embarrassed about their little exchange and hated that somehow the dark-haired fiend kept stealing the upper hand.

"You smoke?" Draco asked, mildly surprised. He cleared his throat—his voice had come out a lot quieter than he'd anticipated.

"Nah," Harry said, exhaling smoke just in front of Draco's nose. "Smell that? It's a cigarillo."

Draco sniffed. The smoke smelled like... "Vanilla?"

"Yup. They're flavoured mini cigars. I treat myself every once in a while." Finishing it, he tossed the butt into a can at his feet.

Draco just nodded. He wasn't sure where his voice was tonight...or his balls, for that matter.

"Well, we better get in there. We're about to start." He opened the door and gestured for Draco to follow.

The door led directly to the backstage. Inside was almost pitch black, save for the lights streaming through gaps in the thick black curtains. Through the openings, Draco caught a glimpse of a young fellow standing near the front of the stage beginning his introduction of the band.

"Head down the stairs here," Harry said softly, pointing to the set of stairs that hugged the wall immediately to their right.

Draco glanced back towards the stage when Weasley appeared, peeking around one of the curtains. "Hey! Harry," he whispered urgently, gesturing at Harry. "We're starting, let's go!" He shot Draco a look worth daggers but didn't seem too surprised he was there.

"Okay," Harry said, looking back to Draco. "I'll find you afterwards, yeah?"

Feeling a bit like a bobble head, Draco nodded wordlessly again. He could hear the MC pepping up the crowd. He turned to head down the steps but a firm hand grabbed his wrist, tugging him back.

"Hey," the brunet stalled, a smirk splitting his features for the first time since Draco had showed up. He stuck two fingers down the waistband of Draco's trousers and pulled the blond towards him. The top of his head came up to roughly the middle of Draco's nose and the tips of his hair would have tickled his blond lashes had Potter not been looking up to meet his eyes. Harry gave him a hard, rugged kiss, biting his bottom lip. Draco's senses flared at the contact, as if his nervous system was buzzing back to life. He could taste the invigorating mixture of vanilla and nicotine on Harry's tongue… It ended all too quickly.

The man winked at him when he pulled away. "Enjoy the show."

"And now, here they are! Wandless Magic!" the guy on stage was yelling. The crowd erupted in cheers and Harry pushed away from Draco, bounding onto the stage.

As Draco slipped down the steps and into the crowd, he heard Harry's voice start up right away, accompanied only by the plucking of his electric guitar.

_"Pain, without love,_

_Pain, I can't get enough._

_Pain, I like it rough,_

_'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all."_

A shiver ran down Draco's spine at the sound of Harry's rich vocals. He'd almost forgotten how sultry his raspy, broken voice was. Pushing through the crowd, he finally reached a point in the room where he could see the stage and he stopped to watch Harry in a trance.

The rest of the band kicked in with the start of the first verse, but Draco barely noticed. All he could see was Potter, clinging to his mic stand. He was wearing jeans and a black a-shirt, and his tanned skin glowed beneath the warm stage lights. He wasn't wearing his cap tonight; his thick, untamed locks falling haphazardly around his eyes. Draco sucked in a shaky breath as he imagined his hands twisting into those raven strands, fisting in them with a firm, stinging grip as he sucked on that irresistible neck. But it was only in the unusual absence of his hat that Draco realized there was a small part of him that had fixated on it. There was something to be said about the unruly adolescence of Potter's image... that made Draco want to tear off all those boyish clothes with his teeth.

_"You're sick of feeling numb,_

_You're not the only one._

_I'll take you by the hand,_

_And I'll show you a world that you can understand._

_This life is filled with hurt,_

_When happiness doesn't work._

_Trust me and take my hand,_

_When the lights go out you will understand."_

Draco was once again hypnotized by the movement of the boy's slender body; the way his muscles flexed when he hammered on his guitar, or forcefully grabbed the mic; the way his torso snaked with perfect agility...

And then Draco was watching his face-the expression, the tension there, the feeling and fever that poured into his song.

_"Anger and agony,_

_Are better than misery._

_Trust me I've got a plan,_

_When the lights go off you will understand..._

_Pain, without love,_

_Pain, I can't get enough._

_Pain, I like it rough,_

_'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all."_

But his eyes. His eyes were magnetic, vibrant and evocative. His eyes gave Draco the feeling that he was not the person you thought you saw. There was something there, swirling behind the green, that Draco couldn't quite place. But it was there, and it was exceptional.

The song picked up in a powerful bridge, and the crowd jumped, falling into a frenzy and echoing the lyrics. Then suddenly the drums and heavy base dropped out, and for a moment there was again nothing but the seductive sound of Harry's voice and the quiet plucking of his guitar strings. The other band members froze, as did the crowd, and all that was left to focus on was Potter, his eyes closed and his mouth pressed to the microphone. What Draco would have given trade places with that microphone.

It was as if time stood still. Harry was quieter this time, his voice filled with agony and suspense, as if building to something larger. The music slowly grew, as the drum's foot peddle kicked in...

_"Pain, without love,_

_Pain, I can't get enough._

_Pain, I like it rough,_

_'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all..."_

And then they were moving again, the music picking up where it left off. It was at this point that Draco found the strength to look away and make his way to the bar. After a short deliberation, he decided against ordering a drink and sat down on a bar stool, facing the stage and leaning his elbows back against the counter.

Draco paid no heed to his surroundings, his attention focused solely on the man singing on stage. So he didn't notice when a cute guy with dirty-blond hair began sidling his way. "No drinks tonight?' the fellow mentioned casually, a meek smile on his face. He seemed rather shy.

Draco looked up, surprised to have been dragged back into the real world. "Uh, no," he started, a little distracted, gaze darting back to the stage without much thought. "I've had my fill for at least another week."

The boy chuckled. "Ah, I hear ya. We've all been there."

At the sound of the new comer's light and friendly laugh, Draco dragged his eyes away from Potter with some difficulty, to have a proper look at the stranger. He was a sweet looking boy—he couldn't have been much more than eighteen—with a pleasant face and warm blue eyes. His sandy hair was dabbled with what appeared to be natural golden highlights and it accented his mildly sun-kissed skin. He dressed smartly, in an almost youthful way-as thought he'd stepped out of an American teen's catalogue.

"I'm George," the boy said offering his hand with another soft smile.

"Malfoy," Draco replied, shaking his hand. "Draco Malfoy."

"Draco?" George repeated. "Like the constellation? Interesting. I like it."

Draco couldn't help but smirk slightly. This George was of an entirely different sort than the types of people that usually surrounded him-so soft spoken and innocent. Draco was willing to bet that the boy had never uttered a sarcastic word in his life.

"Thanks," Draco said, although his attention was already drifting back to the stage, where the first song was over and Harry was thanking the crowd for their enthusiasm.

"You a fan?" George asked.

Draco snorted. "In a manner of speaking."

George grinned. "Let me guess, it's the singer." He raised a gentle brow in Potter's direction. "I wouldn't blame you. I don't think anyone would. He's fantastic."

"I'm sleeping with him," Draco blurted, shocking himself. He had had no intention of saying anything of the sort and he wasn't quite sure where it had come from. Besides, something like that implied that he and Harry were more than... whatever they were. On the other hand, it was technically the truth. He'd been in Potter. Several glorious times. And Potter had spent the night in his bed. That was both senses of "sleeping" well-covered.

George's eyes went wide, both his brows now rising into his relaxed bangs. "You're not serious."

Draco met his eyes and smirked despite himself.

"Oh my God, you are. That's insane. I'll be honest, I'm incredibly jealous."

Draco considered telling him not to be. That being involved with Harry had so far been like trying to piece together a jigsaw puzzle with a million pieces and the wrong picture to reference. That he was wandering blind and confused, forcing pieces together that in the end didn't remotely belong.

"Although, I guess it doesn't surprise me that he would go for someone like you."

Draco glanced at George, unsure if the comment was intended as a negative or positive thing.

"Oh, I mean that in the best way possible," the boy added, reading Draco's curious expression. "That bloke can choose from hundreds of guys, it only makes sense that he would choose somebody on par with him," he shrugged. "And you're gorgeous so, you know, it works."

Draco grinned, but just for a second. "I'm flattered. But we're not together."

George scoffed. "You're a hell of a lot closer than the rest of us."

Finding some solace in the boy's observation, Draco continued to watch the show as he chatted with his new acquaintance. George eventually convinced him to have at least one drink, and the young blond bought Draco a beer. By the time the band was on their last song, Draco was satisfied with the two beers he'd consumed and was laughing light-heartedly with George. The new-found friendship was unexpected and unusual but oddly pleasant. They ended up exchanging numbers.

They continued their casual banter as the band cleared the stage and the majority of the customers slowly filed out, or settled by the pool tables for a couple more games. Something in the corner of Draco's eye caught his attention. He looked over in time to see Harry jump off the stage and walk across the dance floor, heading straight for them.

"Wow, here he comes," George whispered. "I guess this is my proof you weren't lying."

Draco smirked but didn't have time to reply as Potter was already upon them.

"How'd you like the show?" the brunet asked, still a little out of breath.

"It was fantastic!" George gushed before Draco could even open his mouth.

Harry smiled at him. "I don't think we've met." He offered a hand to George.

"Oh, Potter, this is George." Draco made the introduction, wondering where his manners had gotten off to. "George, Potter."

"Hi. Call me Harry," the brunet said, jerking his head towards Draco with a grin. "Only this git calls me Potter."

George laughed. "It's great to meet you. You're incredible."

"I'm not," said Harry. "But thanks." He turned to Draco. "Okay, Malfoy, you ready to go?"

"Where?"

"Party at the owner's place. It's just upstairs."

"You sure Red's okay with that?" Draco asked, glancing up at the stage where Weasley was still packing up his drums.

"He's not thrilled about it. But he knows it's not his decision," Harry replied evenly. "As long as you don't call him 'Red' to his face, I'm sure he'll survive."

Draco sneered. "I can't make any promises, but okay."

George was listening with wide eyes, clearly star-struck. "Wow, talk about jealous, Draco. Kicking it with Harry and the band?"

Draco shrugged. Band or no band, he didn't see what the big deal was. But George had said he'd just moved from a small town. He supposed this might be huge excitement compared to what he was used to.

"You want to join us?" Harry asked.

George frowned. "Oh, no, no, no. I couldn't do that. I couldn't possible intrude."

Harry laughed and made a subtle lean towards Draco's ear, muttering under his breath. "He's too cute. What's he doing talking to_ you_?"

"Ha-Ha," was Draco's response, his tone dry.

"No, I insist, George, come with us. You can meet Ron's brothers. They'll love you."

* * *

**A/N: Okay so there she be! I hope you all enjoyed it! Thanks so much for all my readers and commenters! I really appreciate it! Keep up the R&R! **

**Oh yeah, also, just FYI, an A-shirt, is an athletic shirt, or a men's tank. It's a "beater", but there seems to be no non-slang universal word for them. In the UK they call them 'vests' from what I'm told, but that's just confusing, and in Australia they're called Singlets. Anyway, I went with A-shirt.**

**Onward Ho!**

**Lurve WrittenMatrix**


	7. Chapter 7

***A million thanks go out to my wonderfully talented beta sordid_humors!***

**Chapter 7**

"Gred and Forge's Trick and Joke Shop,"

"Call us with all your pranking needs."

"Er…" George couldn't help but smile at the twins, one of whom was shoving a business card in his face. Both were tall and lanky with bright, friendly grins and freckle dusted cheeks. "Okay. Thanks, I think."

"Our pleasure," the twins said together.

"It's our lifelong goal to support the shenanigans of shit disturbers all over the world."

Draco, who was less than impressed by the twins' bubbly personas, brushed passed them to slide up next to Harry, who was talking to the curly haired girl Draco had met briefly the other night.

"Oh, Malfoy, nice to see you again," she said as she saw Draco approaching from over Harry's shoulder. He got the impression from her tight lips and half-hearted smile that she was only saying it to be polite.

"I see there's no need to introduce you then?" Harry said, slightly surprised.

"Yes, we met," Draco confirmed, nodding to Hermione with a smile that he tried to disguise as not being forced. He had to remember his theory about being nice to Harry's mates. "Nice to see you again. Granger, right?"

Hermione smiled, this time appearing as though she meant it. Perhaps it was just discomfort that had made her initial greeting stilted. "Yes, Hermione," she corrected.

Draco nodded but said nothing more. His hands were still in his pockets, his shoulders tense. "So I take it those are the other Red's?" He nodded in the direction of the over-animated twins.

Harry gave him a disapproving look. "Ditch the nicknames and I'll introduce you."

"I'm okay, thanks," Draco drawled, casting the boisterous pair an uneasy glance.

Harry was clearly unconcerned about Draco's feelings on the matter. He was already dragging the blond back over to where the older Weasley brothers were cheerily yacking at an amused looking George.

"Fred, George, I see you've met George – Well, George the Second, I reckon," Harry corrected with a grin.

"Yes, and we've already established that he shall be deemed Little George," one Weasley brother—Draco couldn't tell which-chimed in.

"Because no one should come second to Big George," the other added.

"Yes, and because he's just a baby."

"A meager 17-barely legal."

The newly dubbed "Little George" blushed as he received a playful wink from Fred.

"Careful, Little George," Harry laughed, smiling at the youngest of the group. "I think he may be hitting on you."

Draco snorted. "Which one?" The fact that the brothers talked a mile a minute, practically finishing each other's sentences, didn't help in distinguishing between the two.

"Fred. He's on my side of the fence," Harry answered, grinning.

One of the twins put a hand to his chest in mock astonishment. "Why, Harry, I would never do such a thing. Corrupt a young mind like his? Impossible." There. Fred was in the blue flannel. Draco made an effort to commit that to memory.

'Little' George blushed harder, his neck running red beneath the carefully pressed collar of his striped jumper.

Unconvinced, Harry shot Fred a skeptical smile. "Uh-huh, I'm sure. Anyway, this is Draco Malfoy."

"Ah, so this is the pretty young fellow Harry took home the other night," the red-headed George said, shaking Draco's hand.

"Yes, Ron told us about you-although he didn't quite say 'Pretty Young Fellow'," Fred noted.

"No, it was more along the lines of 'Bloody Insufferable Twat.'"

"But don't quote us on that."

~.~.~

Draco wasn't sure how it happened but rather suddenly, he was sloshed. Okay, so he knew very well that it wasn't suddenly. It was probably two or three hours later, but he was trying not to think of the ungodly time it had to be. So much for being content with two beers.

He argued (with himself, because no one else seemed to care either way) that it was Red's fault, for slamming back the beers alongside him. _Red,_ of all people. _That's_ how drunk he was.

Earlier in the night, Hermione had approached the blond trying to make polite conversation, undoubtedly an attempt to appease Harry. And surprisingly enough, Draco had found himself almost grateful for the distraction-because despite the clearly friendly nature of Fred's closeness with Potter, Draco couldn't stop glaring at the pale hand that kept ghosting over the curve of Harry's lower back as they and the two Georges laughed over frivolous anecdotes.

"You know" Hermione was saying. "Ron doesn't really hate you as much as he pretends to." She hiccupped, wavering slightly on the spot.

Draco quirked a brow at her, his lips twitching in amusement. The girl had clearly had a few beers, as well. "Hmm," he mused. "He does a tremendous job pretending."

"He does... he's got a temper, that boy." As Granger trailed off, Draco noticed her hazel eyes lingering on the lanky Red standing with the man who had been the MC that evening, and someone whom Draco presumed might have been the owner of the Rooster. Was that longing in the her expression?

"It's just that, well…." Lowering her voice, she leaned closer to Draco. He inclined towards her as well. "He's just looking out for Harry. Ron's watched him go through a lot over the years. He just doesn't want to see him get hurt anymore."

"And he thinks I'm going to hurt him?" Draco inquired, expression hard.

Granger flushed, realizing that her inebriation was causing her to say more than she probably should. "He thinks everyone is going to hurt him. He'd never admit it, but Ron would do anything for Harry."

Draco didn't reply. It was the second time he'd heard reference to Potter's allegedly complicated past, this time by an outsider as opposed to the musician himself. His gaze strayed to Harry again, watching his warm eyes crinkle with laughter. The man put on a front, there was no doubt about it. But it was evident that he had a tender side—a weakness. Draco thought back to Harry's soft, sweet kisses that night at Draco's apartment, and the way he'd slept nestled in the blond's arms. The truth was, the boy was a bit of a basket case, his moods and morals inconsistent.

As Draco's eyes swept the rest of the room, he caught Ron's gaze as the ginger glanced over his shoulder. His expression was cold still, but with what was probably his third or fourth beer in his hand, the anger in his eyes seemed to have softened and was approaching something more along the lines of slight bewilderment. He looked away before Draco could read into it any further.

"You should talk to him," Hermione said, noticing the brief exchange between the two men.

Draco scoffed and took a sip of the beer he'd been nursing. Potter had basically forced it on him, pouring him one from the keg when they'd first walked in, but Draco had barely had a third of it.

"No, really," the girl insisted. Before Draco could stop her, she'd caught Weasley's attention and was gesturing to him. "Ron!"

Reluctant feet carried Weasley over as he tried to avoid Draco's gaze. He lifted his head at Hermione, in silent question.

"Malfoy just wanted to know if you would like to share a beer with us."

The blond's eyes widened slightly, watching in mild horror as Granger gestured to him with a smile. Great. What was it with women and thinking then could just speak on behalf of others? He shot her a stern glare, but forced what could possibly be considered a smile to form on his lips. He looked to Weasley.

Draco jutted his chin toward the man's nearly empty cup, reaching for it. Tense and confused, Ron watched as Draco moved to the keg to top up the ginger's beer. When Draco handed it to back to him, he raised his own cup.

Ron hesitated momentarily, then raised his cup to Draco's, saying nothing but sipping when the blond did.

And apparently that was all it took. That simple and rather insignificant motion in what was an awkward and forced interaction. Well, that and maybe another hour and a half and a dozen more beers—each. Now, for reasons beyond Draco's understanding, everything the Weasel had to say was funny. But a lot of things were beyond Draco's understanding at the moment. Like why he kept spilling his drink on his nice clothes, and why it was for some reason, terribly amusing. As he stumbled once again from where he stood, thoroughly lashed and leaning against Granger, he watched in intrigued observation as the brown liquid sloshed onto the cuff of his sleeve. The corners of his lips twitching, he looked up at Ron, holding his eye contact for a few moments, before they both burst out laughing. In fact, what came out of Draco's lips sounded oddly like a giggle, but that was impossible. Malfoy's didn't giggle.

Ron's face was bright red, likely not only from the alcohol, but also the lack of oxygen his laughing fit induced. He pointed at Draco's shirt, which was now covered in stains. "You gotta 'lil on ya," he said, snickering.

"Shove it, Red," Draco sneered, in jest. They both laughed again and Ron put a heavy arm around Draco's neck. Hermione was watching them with a pleased smile.

Looking around the room for the first time in a long while, Draco saw a mess of red hair and blue plaid, (he was starting to see double), pressing up against the young blond George on the sofa. Draco realized it was Fred, his swollen lips all over the smaller boy's neck. George was flushed an enthused rosy colour, his eyes closed and his head leaning back, clearly with no complaints for his current situation.

The next thing Draco noticed was a sexy brunet sauntering over, flashing his straight, white teeth in a bright smile.

"Well, who would have thought," the man said, touching Weasley's shoulder as he surveyed the unlikely pair.

"I know, yeah?" Ron replied cheerily. "Malfoy 'ere's mor' of a train wreck than I am! Covered in bitter, 'e is."

Harry laughed, his green eyes twinkling. "I can see that. Was that your doing?"

The red-head frowned as he shifted a little, likely unaware of how much weight he was actually leaning on Draco's shoulders. "Nah, tha' was all 'im. 'E aint 'alf bad, ya know-fer a slimy git."

"Wow, Weasel, how kind of ya," Draco said, putting a hand to his heart and batting his eyelashes mockingly.

Harry grinned, wondering if either lashed man would remember this the next morning. Or rather, the next evening, as it was already past five in the morning.

"Malfoy, I should probably get you home," Harry said, placing a hand on Draco's shoulder and offering him a kind smile.

"Kickin' me out, are ya Potter? Jus' when I'm startin' teh hit it off wif yer freckled friend 'ere."

"Not quite kicking you out. It's about time we all turn in-it's nearly dawn." He gestured to the window. Draco blinked as he saw the dark sky outside shimmering with the faintest hint of red and orange on the horizon. Hell, the sun was about to come up.

His brow creased in surprise and concern. He had a feeling he was going to be a bloody mess tomorrow. Or today. He fumbled for his phone. "I'll call a cab."

Potter shook his head, his messy locks falling across his forehead. "I drove hre," he said. "I haven't had a drink for hours. I'll take you home."

Draco almost asked whose home, but didn't. He mumbled his goodbyes to Weasley and Granger and let Harry begin to lead him back downstairs. On their way out, he motioned to the little blond on the sofa.

"Wha' 'bout George?" Draco asked.

Both Fred and the young George glanced their way. Harry made eye contact with Fred, raising an expectant brow at him, silently asking if he could entrust him to take care of the teen. Fred flashed him a grin, bringing his fingers across his chest in an X motion, as if he were really 'crossing his heart.' He gave Harry a mischievous wink before dipping his head back down and capturing the smaller boy's lips with his own.

Draco all but passed out on the way home. He barely remembered two moments together, his brain shutting down from the lack of sleep. He felt his exhaustion was inebriating him more than the alcohol he'd consumed. Despite going to bed early, he hadn't managed more than four or five hours of sleep a single night this week. He was plagued with irritating and repetitive dreams that kept him to tossing and turning until morning.

The next thing he was aware of was Potter's firm, toned arms helping him out of the car and walking him to the door of Draco's apartment. As Harry retrieved the keys from Draco's pocket, the blond tried in vain to shake the fog that clouded his brain, hoping to end the night with some semblance of decency. But when he sprawled onto his back on his bed, bringing his hands up to cover his face, he felt Harry tug off his shoes and realized that he was way past the point of preserving his dignity.

He groaned as Potter wordlessly slipped his hands under Draco's now ruined shirt and undid the clasp of his belt. Being mindful to keep his hands away from grazing the other man's crotch, Harry slipped off Draco's trousers, leaving him clad in only his black pants.

Draco bit his lip to keep from moaning but couldn't suppress a shudder. He was too exhausted for sex, both he and Potter knew that, but that didn't stop his imagination from wandering as Harry slowly undressed him.

The musician sat down on the edge of the bed, working Draco's tie next. His cold fingers tugged it looser, then carefully slipped it off. The weight on the bed shifted as Harry stood up, and Draco opened his eyes only slightly. He watched from behind heavy lids as the sexy brunet unfolded the spare blanket from the foot of the bed, and draped it over him, probably knowing that Draco wouldn't be willing to get up to get under the covers.

Draco allowed his eyes to fall shut again, unable to find the strength to keep them open any longer. He sighed as he felt Harry sit back down beside him. He could sense that the boy was close-he could feel his breath on his check, could smell the intoxicating spicy scent of his skin.

His breath hitched in his chest as he felt soft lips press to his own. The kiss was simple and unassuming, and despite his fatigue, Draco opened his mouth, inviting the boy in for more. He was pleased as Potter obliged. Draco brought a hand up to the back of the man's neck, holding him firmly in place.

Their kiss deepened but remained slow, and Draco sighed when Harry pulled away. "I'd thank ya, Potter, but I get the feeling yer gonna hold this evening over my head for a long time."

Even with his eyes closed, he could hear Harry smirk, as the boy breathed out in amusement. "Don't think on it, Malfoy. Besides, I was the one who asked you to come out in the first place."

Draco felt the brunet's fingers trail softly against his cheek, then down to his jaw, then his neck. Warm lips were on his again, Harry's kiss tender and passionate. Draco frowned as his cock gave a threatening twitch. Though just as hazy as the rest of him, his better judgement was slowly rearing its ugly head. It was starting to reject Potter's gentle touches and questionable motives.

"Unngg..." the blond moaned, putting a hand on the boy's carved chest and pushing him away. He finally opened his eyes. "What's your deal, Potter?" he practically growled.

Harry looked confused. "What?"

"This," Draco gestured his hand between their two bodies. "This right here-this is not something you do when all you're after is a fuck." He felt a fire in his stomach threatening to ignite with his anger, but it was more like a match that petered out shortly after being struck. He was too tired for this argument but the words spilled out anyway.

The beautiful tanned face before him developed a troubled expression. "I-I don't know what to say. Just because I don't do the whole relationship thing-or at least, I haven't in a while-doesn't mean I'm heartless. It doesn't make me a jack ass."

Draco closed his eyes, wincing as his head began to pound. He just needed to sleep.

Potter spoke up again when he didn't get a response from the blond. "I didn't realize you'd be sensitive to it. I'm sorry."

Draco's eyes flew open in anger. Against every plea his body was screaming at him to not move, he propped himself up on one elbow, glaring at Harry through narrowed eyes. "Sensitive, Potter? Hardly," he spat. He immediately regretted it at the look of surprise on Harry's face. His world was spinning from sitting up too quickly, and he groaned and lied back down. "Just-never mind. Thank you for getting me here, Potter. Just forget it. I trust you can see yourself out."

He couldn't believe how he was making himself look-how was it possible that he was turning out to be the sensitive one? Those words uttered from the brunet's lips had struck a nerve with Draco. No one had ever made him act this way before and he was bloody frustrated with himself. Considering how worked up he'd gotten, it was a testament to just how tired he was when it barely took him five minutes to pass out into an aggravated but exhausted slumber.


	8. Chapter 8

****To my beta, sordid_humors: **

**T, you truly are of a fantastic sort. One of a kind really. I treasure our late night chats over wine and liquor, and your sarcasm and forth-right personality keep my crying...with laughter. You know when people say ROFL? Well, I actually DO it when talking to you. You are endlessly snarky and egotistical, and a smart-ass of epic proportions- and I adore you for it. My story, not to mention this chapter, wouldn't be what it is without you. I am endlessly grateful for your patience and hard work. I can't express how brilliant it is to have one more person in my life who doesn't care that I don't have a filter. I say what I want...and you are worse; =P I hope to continue to learn from you, and I hope to continue to impress you-I seek your approval after all, lol.**

**Love your friend,**

**M  
**

**Chapter 8**

Draco woke with a pounding headache and an uncomfortable tingle in the back of his throat. It was a bit like… needing to throw up. The haggard blond nearly retched as he sat up, eternally grateful to the sexy, though frustrating brunet, when he saw a bottle of water and two little brown pills on his bedside table. On the bottle there was a sticky note that read '_Drink Me First_', and next to the pills, another note with '_Swallow Me (haha dirty)_'.

Draco's grin turned to a grimace as he reached for the bottle, his movements making the intense pounding in his head about a hundred times worse. He took a long satisfying gulp water. As he snatched the pills from the nightstand, tossing them back, he noticed a tiny bottle of a vitamin infused fruit drink. It also had a sticky note on it, which read '_Drink Me Second_'.

Polishing off a good two-thirds of the water, Draco reached for the little bottle of "Emergen-C" and chugged the vitamin booster in one fell swoop. His body ached and protested as he swung his feet over the edge of the bed, forcing himself to get up.

His hands and wrists felt sticky from the beer that had spilled and dried on his skin and he detected the stench of booze practically oozing from his pores. Anxious to wash away the effects of last night's poor judgment of alcohol tolerance, he made for the bathroom, and grimaced when he saw his reflection in the mirror. His perfectly good shirt would never be the same, now filthy and stained. He peeled it off with a defeated sigh, muttering under his breath an oath to never again wear white while out with Potter. When he stepped out of his pants and went to open the door of his stand-up shower, a soft grin again broke his hardened expression, as he found yet another note from Harry stuck to the glass.

_"Tip: Hot for 5 mins for the headache, then cold for 5 for the drowsiness."_

Leaving the note where it was, Draco turned on the shower and stepped in, moaning in relief as the hot water cascaded down the back of his neck. The image of Potter seemed to be imprinted on the insides of his lids. Draco bit his lip as the boy once again flooded his thoughts, unsure if he wanted to smile at Potter's sweet gesture, or scream bloody murder and rip out his own hair because the little prat was once again contradicting his words with his actions. He was a reckless whirl-wind of a man: fiery, infuriating, unpredictable, moody, big-headed, demanding and intense, all in one delightfully compact and utterly fuckable package. But it was these things that fed Draco's lust for him. Potter's violently turbulent personality simultaneously enraged and aroused the blond. He was powerful and fervent—and Draco got off on it.

Abiding by Harry's tip, Draco waited a few more minutes before cranking the tap to the right, the stream from the shower head disappearing as the heavy spray turned cold. He gasped. The temperature change was a shock to his system but once he adjusted, it was somewhat refreshing and he certainly did feel more alert.

He tried to forget about Potter as he washed his hair, finished up his shower and headed towards the kitchen with a towel wrapped around his slender hips. He had a lot of work ahead of him and come Monday, if he panned on getting anything accomplished, he had to get the man out of his head.

As Draco reached the kitchen, his damp feet leaving prints on the tiled floor, he paused as he caught a whiff of the soothing aroma of freshly brewed coffee. A glance at his coffee maker confirmed that it was bubbling away, and there was another sticky note on the pot's handle. He swiftly snatched it between his fingers to read it.

_"Fifty quid says you didn't know there was a timer on your coffee maker."_

The blond shook his head, unable to wipe the cheesy grin off his face. He was ashamed to admit that he felt a little like a giddy school-girl with a crush. But as he poured himself some coffee and made his way back to his bedroom to slip into his silky black pajama bottoms, his grin gradually faded and was replaced with a sour pout.

He couldn't keep this up—he wouldn't. His work was suffering, and as sweet as the brunet could be, (not to mention fucking gorgeous and a terrific toss), he clearly led a different life than Draco did. A Malfoy needed stability and structure. He was organized and professional, reliable and mature—all things that Potter simply wasn't. He flitted around like an emotional teenager, not knowing what he wanted or how he felt. Draco simply didn't have the time or the patience for someone like that in his life. He was out to accomplish big goals and couldn't afford to have anybody, no matter how irresistible, holding him back.

Grabbing his mobile and his watch from the night stand, he meandered back into the living room and perched onto the sofa, tucking his bare feet up beside him. He grasped his large coffee mug with two hands, loving the way the cup warmed his fingertips. Draco had a mild obsession with over-sized coffee cups. In fact, his favorites were really more like deep soup bowls with a handle. He loathed having to refill cup after cup with the regular sized mugs. When he wanted coffee, he wanted it excellent and in hefty amounts. He also loved the way he could nurse the beverage in his hands, its heat and size providing him with a satisfying sort of comfort.

He sat lost in thought for several minutes. He started when his phone vibrated on the glass coffee table. Leaning forward, he grabbed it and flipped it open.

_1 New Message._

He hit the select button.

_From: Potter, H._

—_So, do you owe me fifty quid?_

_Sent: 10:46 am_

A smirk graced Draco's thin pink lips, but he felt his stomach do uncomfortable flips as he replied.

—_No. But you owe me 5 for using up all my post-its. And how did you know when I'd get up?_

—_Lucky guess. And I owe you 12 pence, max. Accounting for the 6 I used, that's a generous 2p a post-it._

Draco couldn't hold back the wisecrack retort.

—_Fine. 12 p then. I accept checks._

Draco closed his phone, practically throwing it to the other side of the couch. He heaved an irritated sigh. His own responses had been cheeky—certainly his Malfoy way of being flirty. Why couldn't he control himself? Potter wasn't even in the room for fuck's sake! And yet Draco still caved to that boyish charisma. When his phone vibrated again, he looked at it somewhat longingly but didn't retrieve it to read Harry's response. He'd made the decision to forget about the boy not two minutes ago and he was already failing miserably. Sending coy text messages would in no way help the situation. He had to distance himself. Now.

Leaving his cell where it was, Draco got up to get dressed, but on his way to his bedroom a flash of yellow caught his eye and he did a double take. There, on the front door, was one more sticky-note. In that moment, the blond realized that Potter had mentioned using six post-its, and up until now, Draco had only stumbled across five.

Almost wishing he didn't have to, Draco tentatively approached the entrance way and picked the note off his front door.

_"Undressing you last night—and being a gentleman about it—was torturous. -HP"_

Draco paused a moment, his eyes sliding shut as he remembered Harry's fingers tugging down his trousers and loosening his tie. His eyes opened again to linger on the words…before crumpling the note in his fist with a miserable wince.

~.~.~

"So... Whatever happened to Potter?" Blaise's voice was cautious, unsure of how the blond would react to the mention of the forbidden name.

"Fuck Potter, Zabini," Draco spat, not bothering to look at his flat mate as he issued his acerbic retort.

"No... No, I'm sure you've fucked him enough for the both of us, thanks," Blaise drawled, fully anticipating the glare he'd receive for that sexual quip. Said scowl was suspiciously absent. Draco only heaved an enormous and frustrated sigh, hair falling into his eyes.

Draco brushed errant locks away with agitated fingers, only to have most of his fringe slip triumphantly forward once more. He really needed to get it cut soon, but that would require stopping and sitting in one place for more than five minutes. Not going to happen. He feared that, if he sat, he might start thinking. And thinking always lead back to Harry Potter.

He'd been working himself into the ground these past three weeks, determined to keep busy. He needed to focus, study, be exceptional. After all, that's what Malfoys were meant to do. That was what they were good at. Not chasing a phantom romance with irresponsible boys.

Draco checked his tie in the hallway mirror, adjusting it needlessly for the thirteenth time, before grabbing his take out coffee mug and his keys.

Blaise frowned at his friend who had only just arrived home maybe ten minutes before. "Where are you going, mate?"

"Back to the office," the blond replied without so much as glancing Blaise's way.

"What in hell's name for?" Blaise demanded with concern. "It's nearly five! You just spent nine hours at the office!"

"I have extra work to get done, Blaise. I have a presentation for a client next week." Draco was already slipping into his jacket, trying to avoid meeting Blaise's worried brown eyes. Ignoring the man's muttered oaths, he tried to edge past him to get to the door, but Blaise was quick to grab his wrist.

"Drake," Blaise insisted, his tone firm. He fixed him with a stern glare, enunciating every syllable as he continued. "You. Need. To. Stop."

At first, the blond said nothing, meeting Blaise's stare, his grey eyes filling with doubt, but his cold expression unchanged.

"You're going to make yourself sick. You don't eat; you don't sleep; I'm fairly certain you consume at least five cups of coffee a day-and that's just when I _see_ you. What good are you going to be to the firm if you collapse with exhaustion and malnutrition?"

Draco pulled his wrist out of Blaise's grasp, but gently. "I'll eat, Blaise. I'll grab some take-away or something," he offered, although he nearly shuddered at the thought of eating fast food.

Blaise's angry eyes softened, feeling both helpless and sorry for his friend, who was clearly spreading himself too thin as he tried to run from his distress. "Drake, do you want to ta—."

Silver eyes hardened again, going a cold stone grey. "I'm fine, Zabini," he interrupted. "Really. I appreciate your concern but I'm fine."

Slamming the door behind him, Draco wished that Blaise would believe his excuses from time to time. It would make his life a hell of a lot easier. But his lies were completely futile against Blaise Zabini and Draco knew it. They had known each other far too long, and the Italian could see right through his bullshit.

But he lied anyway; because, as fate would have it, channelling his focus into his slippery tongue kept his mind from straying to a small, dark and handsome place it was no longer allowed to visit. He didn't want to talk about _him_ or think about _him_ or even say his fucking name. He would force himself to a work-a-holic, sleep-deprived, caffeine-fueled place, a plane of being where the little vixen and all his shit didn't exist.

Thank God the rest of the world was a mite more gullible—or perhaps susceptible to his charms. Straightening his lapels and reordering his tie, Draco made for the elevator.

~.~.~

"So whatever happened to, er…You Know Who?" Ron asked carefully. He glanced at Hermione in trepidation, silently asking if she would step in if Harry flew off the handle again. These days, mentioning Draco Malfoy around Harry was an effective way to lose an eye. Last time Ron had posed one too many questions, he'd nearly earned himself a facer, his high-top cymbals sent crashing to the floor as Harry chased him around the drum kit, brandishing his favourite crimson and gold guitar pick and swishing it like a play sword. Ron had fenced back with a drum stick, parrying wildly until they were both reduced to laughter. But deep down he knew something was up, something no amount of huffing frowns or play fights could disguise..

Harry frowned as he tightened a string on his guitar and plucked it again to check the pitch. Satisfied, he let the guitar strap sag around his neck, moving to adjust the mic stand next.

"Don't really know," Harry answered with a shrug. His casual air couldn't mask the worry flickering behind his eyes—at least not from his two best mates.

"Wot?" Ron tried to keep it light. "Did our little lashed bonding moment scare him off?" He couldn't honestly say he was a big fan of the pompous blond but at the same time he had to admit that it was utterly unfair to judge Malfoy based only on the reputation of his father. Ron wasn't about to become bosom buddies with the ponce but he was willing to bite the bullet and suck it up. Malfoy made Harry smile—there had to be some worth in that.

"Nah," Harry chuckled dismissively. "I'm sure he's just busy. No big deal."

Hermione and Ron exchanged unconvinced expressions behind the boy's back. After a particularly messy breakup with his live-in boyfriend of three years, Harry had taken all that bottled up torment from his complicated past, and run with it: the suffering of having grown up with a less than an affectionate aunt and uncle (not to mention an abusive cousin), the grief of losing Sirius, his parent-like godfather, and finally, the misery of a broken heart as the bleeding cherry on top. Harry had opened himself up to his ex, given everything he had to the relationship and made himself vulnerable for the first time in years just to have his world ripped out from under him in one night of piercing screams and broken china. That one night had been the end of everything they had, commitment crumbling like Greek temples and day-old coffee cake.

For the past fourteen months, Harry had been something of a train wreck. Every kiss from a stranger had been a way to forget, every random fuck a temporary measure to smother his pain-a way to _feel _without the penalty of commitment, the possibility of another mortal wound. He insisted he was happy, that mindless sex was exactly what he needed. But Hermione knew better. Harry was lying through his teeth; not only to his friends but to himself. Harry had always been a little wild; he'd always been fiery and stubborn and they loved him all the more for his fire. Yet he'd been loving once, an exceedingly large heart and a soft spot for romance marking his genuine goodness. That was the part of himself he'd tucked away... and was beginning to lose sight of.

And yet, when Malfoy had unexpectedly barreled into the picture, there had been a subtle but noticeable shift in Harry's attitude. For starters, he talked about the blond _a lot_. Hermione swore Harry didn't even realize he was doing it, but Draco Malfoy's name was falling from the brunet's lips with increasing frequency. Malfoy had been the first bloke in ages that Harry bothered introducing to his friends—and certainly the first that Harry had actually put an effort into seeing again.

Despite all this, Harry refused to acknowledge that he was acting any differently than usual. He quickly grew evasive and frustrated if either Hermione of Ron tried to bring it up. He blew off their prying questions with careless shrugs; yet however fleetingly, there had been a distinctive sparkle in his eyes when Malfoy was around. It was something neither of his friends had seen in months… maybe years. Since Sirius' death, at least. That was why Malfoy's conspicuous absence over the last three weeks was a cause for real concern. Hermione couldn't help but wonder if Harry had gone and messed it up for himself… again.

"Harry, did you..." she trailed off, unsure of how to phrase her question.

'Did I what, 'Mione?" Harry snapped.

"What did you... tell him, exactly?" Harry did a very good job at keeping people at a remarkable distance. If a handsome fellow so much as hinted at more than just sex, the musician would be lacing up his trainers and bolting out the door in seconds.

"I told him the truth," Harry answered, taking off his signature baseball cap and tossing it to the side of the stage. It was a Friday night, and they were setting up for another show at the Room of Requirement.

"I told him I wasn't looking for anything more than a good time and a quick toss. No pressure, no commitment, no strings." He strummed a chord, testing the amp level and adjusting the dial with his foot. The boy's ability to look disinterested was uncanny.

"Harry James, why do you insist on closing all these doors on yourself before you even have a chance to see what's on the other side?" Hermione asked, a hand flying to her hip in what Ron and Harry both identified as her classic lecturing pose.

"Because, Hermione _Jean_," Harry said through gritted teeth, rolling his eyes at her use of his middle name. "I know what's on the other side. I've been there: unnecessary stress, worry and disappointment. All things I don't want or need, especially right now. I'm happy with what I've got—the band, my life, you guys… I'm good. Really."

Hermione sighed, tending to her own bass strings. She was quite familiar with Harry in this sort of mood—both she and Ron recognized that with the brunet in this state, there was no point pressing the issue any further.

~.~.~

_From: Haywood, George_

—_Draaaaaccoooooo... Where the hell have you been? You swore you'd come out last weekend and you never showed._

_Sent: 2:32 PM_

—_I never swore, you little brat ;) I don't make promises I can't keep._

—_Okay, well you said maybe. Just like the time before that... And the time before that... And the time before that..._

—_Yes well, maybe doesn't mean yes._

—_True. But you have no choice this time. I'm not asking you. I'm telling you. You are coming downtown tonight, because it's my birthday._

—_Happy Birthday, Little G. But I'm not so sure I can make it._

—_Not an option._

—...

—_Please. No, not please. Because please implies I'm asking. I'll see you at 10, at The Three Broomsticks. Bring your roommate._

Draco's jaw clenched with uneasiness. It had been almost an entire month since he'd last seen Potter, but it had also been almost an entire month since he'd last been out on the town... since he'd last socialized... since he'd last gotten laid...

He groaned and dropped himself onto the couch, staring at his phone. He supposed it was about time he broke his work-a-holic, hermit routine. He probably wouldn't even see Potter; besides, even if he did, he couldn't let the boy think that he would hide away forever. Harry had to know that Draco was fine and that the situation between them, or rather, the lack of situation between them, had no effect on the blond. He couldn't care less anymore. Really.

Draco sighed, checking his watch. If he was planning to do this he would need to get a haircut...

_To: Zabini, B._

—_What time you off work tonight?_

_Sent: 2:57 PM_

—_9. Why?_

—_We're going out._


	9. Chapter 9

****Thanks a million to the best beta ever, sordid_humor!**

**Chapter 9**

Blaise had been so overwhelmed with relief when he'd read the message from Draco that he didn't risk questioning it in anyway. He rushed home as fast as traffic would allow and burst through the door, hoping against hope that Draco wouldn't be sitting on the couch in his sweats, announcing that he'd changed his mind.

He grinned wildly when he saw Draco already dressed, mussing with his shock of white-blond hair in the hallway mirror, an open bottle of Stella in his hand.

"Hey, mate," the blond greeted when Blaise walked in. He immediately grabbed another beer, cracking it open and handing it to Blaise. "I figured I'd save us some cash—picked up a few beers on my way home."

"Cheers," Blaise replied with a grin. He nodded to Draco, who was already focused on the mirror again. "Nice haircut."

"Thanks..." the blond muttered, pulling a face as his long fingers carded through his freshly trimmed locks. "It's better than it was, but it's still..." he trailed off and met Blaise's eyes in the reflection of the mirror. "I won't bore you," he finished with a grin.

"I appreciate that," Blaise joked. "So, where are we going?"

"Three Broomsticks. It's George's birthday. You remember him, right? He stopped by last week."

Blaise nodded. He did in fact remember the George. He was just a kid, barely of age, but Blaise distinctly remembered because he had come seeking Draco, wondering why he hadn't been out in weeks.

"He still dating the Weasley?" he questioned, smirking. The Weasley, whom Blaise knew was one of Ron's many brothers, graduated a couple years ahead of them and was likely about 24. And George was what? 17? Talk about a score on the red-head's part.

"To be honest, I haven't the foggiest," Draco replied. Finally, the blond abandoned his reflection and turned to Blaise, returning the grin sent his way. He was fairly certain he knew what Blaise was thinking.

"And how old is George?" The Italian drawled.

"It's his 18th today."

Blaise snorted, but Malfoy raised a brow at him. "Who are you to talk, Zabini? I mean, really." Blaise, who was the same twenty two years as Draco, had had a slew of younger girlfriends.

"Okay, that was _one_ _time_," Blaise argued, knowing the specific ex Draco likely had in mind. "But in my defense, she was about to graduate!"

Draco scoffed. "Yeah, from bleedin' high school, Zabini, not university—hell, not even sixth form! She was sixteen." At this, he smirked and took a sip of his beer before continuing. "She probably listed you as an extra-curricular. You sure know how to pick 'em, mate."

~.~.~

Stepping into the busy pub, Draco scanned the room in search of George's dirty blond head. When he finally spotted him, he couldn't help but grin as he nudged Blaise with his elbow.

"I guess that answers your question," Draco said, nodding towards the table where George sat nearly consumed by an extremely attentive red-head.

Blaise cleared his throat as they stepped up to the couple. "Er, excuse me George, but you have a Weasley on your face."

Both men looked up to see Draco and Blaise standing over them and laughed. Fred stood and offered a steady handshake to them both, a wide smile on his face. "Malfoy, nice to see you again."

"Same to you," Draco replied. "And you know Blaise Zabini?"

Fred nodded. "In passing, although I don't believe we've ever been formally introduced. Fred Weasley. S'a pleasure."

Blaise smiled. "Likewise. I've seen you and your other half around London before."

Leaving Blaise and Fred to their small talk, Draco slipped into the seat next to George.

"I'm glad you could make it," the young man said sincerely, his boyish features lighting up.

Malfoy gave the boy a secure, one armed hug, jostling him under his grasp. "Me too, Little G." He said warmly. It was odd, but Draco didn't know _how_ to be snide towards George. He was very sweet and tended to bring out Draco's more genuine side. "Although I don't think you would have missed me too terribly if I hadn't," he teased, nodding towards Fred with a wink.

George blushed. "Don't be silly. Of course I would have. I'm new in town, remember? I don't have very many friends."

"Oh wow, I'm flattered," Draco laughed, making a point of excessively batting his long, pale lashes. "So, it's going well then, yeah?" At George's meek nod and wistful glace towards his boyfriend, Draco raised one smart eyebrow. "You have the bruises to prove it, I hope? If you're not walking funny, then it's not going well enough."

If possible, George flushed even darker. He covered his face with his hands but Draco could still see the wry, bashful smile from between his fingers. "It's going great," the boy managed. "_He's_ great."

"The _Weasley?" _Draco teased. "You sure 'bout tha'?"

"I'm sure."

"Good then," Draco nodded, waving down a nearby server. "Now all you need is a t-shirt that says 'I'm with the Cradle Robber.'"

~.~.~

"What part of 'I don't want to talk about it,' failed to permeate your thick skull?"

Draco growled in frustration, sitting slouched in his seat, arms crossed firmly across his chest. They had been having a perfectly good time—pleasant conversation, good beer, great company. He seriously could have killed the freckle-faced idiot for ruining it.

"The part where you get puppy dog eyes every time we mention him in passing. Now, excuse me for being forward but—"

"If I don't, will you bugger off?" Draco spat.

Fred continued, ignoring the blond's interruption. "But if you want him, Malfoy, just go an' get him."

Draco's eyes widened, having not expected that reply in the slightest. "Excuse me? You don't have a sodding clue, do you Weasley? You're more of a moron than I thought. It doesn't bloody work like that! It's a two way street. It makes no difference what one person wants if the other doesn't want the same thing. I can't just fucking _decide_ these things."

"How do you know what he wants?"

Exasperated, Draco rolled his eyes. This was bloody ridiculous. "Because, you fuckwit, he told me. He's happy to just whore himself out with no expectations." Draco suddenly realized he may have been disputing the wrong argument. Hadn't he been exactly the same way a few months ago? "Besides, who even says I want anything! Maybe I'm just as content with it being a simple fuck. What makes you think I want anything different?"

Six eyes stared back at him and no one uttered a word, their silence saying everything. Blaise's shoulders shook with a muffled snort, Fred lifted a sardonic eyebrow, and George covered his pert little mouth with his hand in an effort to hide the grin that was forming there.

The blond glared at them but his posture sagged. He resented the looks they were giving him: like he was a naïve child whose lack of know-how was amusing, just a form of entertainment. When did his lying become so abysmal? "Okay, fine," he muttered in defeat. "Bloody tossers, the lot o' ya."

Fred sighed. "Listen to me, Malfoy. Harry isn't perfect."

Blaise let out a short, barking laugh. "He certainly had Draco fooled," he muttered, receiving a stony glare from his best friend.

Weasley continued. "He doesn't know what he wants. He just knows what he doesn't want. The guy's been avoiding commitment left, right and center—I mean, after the shit he's been through, who can blame him? He's just tired of trying to sift through the crap to get to the good stuff, yeah?"

"Thanks for the lovely metaphor," Draco sneered. He had no idea what the hell Weasley was talking about. The shit Potter had been through? What shit? Losing his parents? Draco hated feeling uninformed, but maybe if sodding Potter just bloody _told_ him a thing or two and stopped acting like such a conceited, reticent, conniving little prick, Draco would _know_ these things. His irritation showed in his conversation with Fred—he was being a complete dick but he didn't rightly care. At least _that_ was something he was good at. "You got a point, Weasley?"

Blaise decided it was best that he took over. "His point, Drake, is that Potter's just put up a few walls to be torn down. Certainly nothing a Malfoy can't handle," he added, a smirk touching his lips. "Just be persistent. If anybody knows how to be a demanding and relentless little twat, it's you."

"Thanks," the blond replied, his tone flat.

"I'm serious. Don't let a few speed bumps deter you: a Malfoy goes after what he wants. After all, quitting is for failures, am I right?"

Draco gritted his teeth, hating Blaise for quoting him almost word for word. Damn Zabini and his blasted good memory. A heavy sigh escaped his chest as he physically deflated. He hated to admit that maybe they were right. He was, after all, a Malfoy. It was definitely unlike him to admit defeat, especially so easily. And although Draco wasn't usually the type to be overly concerned about his relations with men and where they went, he couldn't deny that Potter had gotten under his skin. Maybe it was something he shouldn't ignore, considering how rarely it happened. With that perspective in mind, Draco grew more confident. Who was Potter to think he could just flippantly turn down an opportunity to be with Draco Malfoy?

He met Blaise's steady gaze. "Okay, Zabini, you win," he simpered. "By the time I'm through, Potter won't know what hit him."

Blaise, along with the rest of the company, smiled in relief. "Now that's the Draco I know and love," the brunet said, leaning back in his chair, a look of accomplishment settling into his handsome features.

~.~.~

The crowd erupted in cheers as Wandless Magic struck the final chord of their last song of the night. Harry was breathlessly leaning into the mic, directing many thank-yous to the audience.

"You guys have been great, thanks so much. And for a reminder I'm sure you don't need anymore, that's Hermione Granger on bass and Ron Weasley on drums."

Harry turned his back to the crowd as he lifted his guitar strap over his head and set the instrument carefully on its stand. With his back turned, Harry didn't notice an agile blond vault onto the stage. Turning around, he started—taken so completely by surprise. The Room of Requirement wasn't exactly the sort of venue where crazed fans jumped up on stage. He was immediately caught up in a secure embrace and snogged within an inch of his life.

Strong arms were wrapped around his back, dipping him backwards and supporting his weight. Harry reacted out of instinct rather than actual comprehension. His brain hadn't quite had the chance to catch up with his body, but somewhere in the recesses of his mind was a deep-set familiarity with the firmness of the arms around his waist, the solid hand that rested steady and hot at the curve of his back, the urgent press of soft yet assertive lips. Whether it was his sex drive or his subconscious, his instinct was to kiss back just as hard, just as needy and long and full.

He could hear cat calls and whooping whistles from the crowd and he knew he should be pulling away—but he was finding the task particularly difficult. He liked this kiss—he _knew _this kiss. He knew the taste and the smell and the touch of it. It was Harry's grin against his assaulter's lips that finally separated them. Still wrapped tightly in the man's arms, Harry opened his eyes and was presented with the sight of familiar features: creamy skin, a pointed jaw-line and wisps of platinum hair.

"Hey, stranger," the boy said, still somewhat dazed, eyes wide and sparkling with shock. The stage lights glittered in and out of the green there, lighting up his face.

"Potter," Draco drawled, his token smirk just starting to curve the corners of his pink mouth. "I believe you owe me twelve pence."

Harry quirked a brow in amusement. "I reckon I do. You said you take checks?"

A large and genuine smile split the blond's face. He dropped his head to ravish Harry's lips again. This time he brought his hands to cup the sides of Harry's face, fingers threading into the messy locks above the boy's ears and tracing slow circles, wrapping thick tresses around his fingers until they were tangled so sweetly together.

"Well then! I guess that's an interesting end to yet another terrific show!" the MC announced into the microphone as he stepped back on stage. "Stick around and order some more drinks, 'cause we've got hours of great music coming your way!"

The DJ started up again and many people began milling their way towards the washrooms or the bar. A few entertained onlookers stayed to survey the lead singer and the blond going at it on stage. But Draco didn't care about their audience and he also didn't care that somewhere up stage Ron was huffing uncomfortably and Hermione was putting gear away, pretending—despite her pink cheeks—not to notice.

It was a cause for concern though, because now that Draco was flush up against the brunet again, smelling him, tasting him… he wasn't sure if he would be able to stop. Hell, he wasn't even sure he wanted to stop. He would have had his way with him right there on the stage and not have regretted it for a second, even if he were thrown into the drunk tank and left there till morning.

Therefore, he supposed it was a good thing when Harry pulled away gently, backing out of Draco's reach. The musician slowly started breaking down equipment, quietly smirking at the blond. "Fancy seeing you here Malfoy. Thanks to you I'll have a lot of explaining to do to my avid fans," he said with a wink.

"Yes, well, anyone who can't handle the idea of you with me can shove it up their asses."

"Is that so? Well considering I'm not with you, I don't see it as being a problem. Mind you, that little presentation you gave them will likely ensure I get a lot of desperate emails from jealous fan girls."

"Don't be so sure of that, Potter."

Harry looked up from the cord he was coiling. "Of what? It not being a problem, or the desperate emails?

"Of not being with me," Draco replied, haughtily examining his nails as if the topic were boring him.

"Well..." Harry started, retrieving his case and kneeling to place his guitar inside. "Call me crazy but I think I'd _know_ if I were seeing someone."

"Oh, you're not yet," Draco agreed. "But that will change."

"Oh?" The brunet inquired, looking up at him. "You sound pretty confident for a guy I haven't heard from in nearly a month."

"That's because I am," Draco said as he stepped forward and squatted down to level with Potter, resting his forearms on his knees. "All in due time, Potter..." He took Harry's chin in his thumb and forefinger and claimed his mouth in a hot kiss. "Finish up here," he said. "Then meet me at the bar. I'll buy you a drink."

~.~.~

From his seat at the bar with Fred and George, Blaise watched as Draco laughing whole-heartedly, several feet down the bar. Even as his best mate, that rolling laugh was something he only heard on rare occasion when it was just the two of them. Draco's eyes were brighter than they'd been in weeks. His silvery gaze never left Harry's face, focused on the man and their lively conversation, little touches passing between them. Potter kept leaning forward to pick up his ale, nostrils flaring ever so slightly. Blaise realized the brunet was taking a surreptitious whiff of Draco's cologne with each pass. He'd never seen two men so obviously into one another. Blaise was counting the seconds until the tension between them took its natural course—a good, heart-pounding fuck. Draco could sure as hell use it.

The blond pushed back his already rolled up sleeves and paused to take a sip of his gin and tonic, still chuckling.

"No, Potter, I kid you not," he continued as he put the glass down. "I am so musically un-inclined; should I so much as approach an instrument, it'll go out of tune."

Harry laughed. "Right. You know you're a tad dramatic, Malfoy?" he teased.

"Oh, you think I'm kidding? Go check your guitar. I'm sure you won't even recognize the sound of the D-string."

The brunet shook his head with a grin. "Well, I'm sure I could teach you a thing or two."

"You've already taught me a thing or two, Potter," Draco smirked.

"Oh I have, have I?"

"Yeah. You taught me never to leave you alone with my stationary."

"Bloody hell," Harry laughed. "You have quite the emotional attachment to your post-its."

"I wouldn't call it emotional. More like practical. And also, who fucking _doesn't_ love stationary? I mean, tell me you didn't used to anticipate back to school shopping as a kid."

"I didn't exactly have the pleasure of back to school shopping," Harry chuckled. "But I can imagine." He saw Draco's eyes sadden just a touch and veered away from the topic as subtly as possible. "I was a bit of a nerd in grade school, actually."

Draco snorted. "Why does that not surprise me, Potter?"

Harry grinned. "But then I picked up a guitar when I was in sixteen and _bam_—nothing but sex."

"Hmm. Curious… joining the high school band usually has the opposite effect..." Draco sneered in jest, sipping his drink.

Across the bar, Blaise was straining to hear some of their conversation with little success.

"They seem to be getting along pretty well over there," George noted when he saw Blaise watching the pair.

"Yeah, they do," Blaise replied, nodding. "I'm surprised, though. I'd have expected Malfoy to drag Harry off to the loo for a quickie _ages_ ago."

Fred grinned. "Me too—I'm sure he's just trying to play his cards right."

"Yeah, but it's Draco. He hasn't had sex in nearly a month. And trust me, in Malfoy time, that's like three years."

"You keep track of how often he has sex?" George asked with mock-incredulity.

The brunet gave him an incredulous look. "I repeat: It's Draco. If I don't hear him from the next room, he makes sure to tell me about it in detail the first chance he gets."

Fred chuckled, putting an arm around George's waist. The red-head was sitting on a bar stool, one knee up with a shoe propped on the foot rest with George standing between his legs, leaning comfortably against his chest. Even Blaise couldn't deny they were quite the pair.

"I see life with a man in diapers is treating you well," came a familiar voice.

The trio looked over to see Ron approaching them, closely tailed by Hermione. Blaise noticed that Ron was lightly grasping the girl's fingers, but dropped them as they approached the group.

"It sure is," Fred replied, beaming and giving the boy in his arms a kiss on the cheek.

"Actually, I was talking to George," Ron corrected. He leaned towards the young man and spoke behind his hand. "'Depends'," he whispered to George with a wink.

"Ha-ha. Very Funny. I'm so old I'm wearing adult diapers. You're a comedian, Ronnie-kins."

"That's probably why he started dating someone with the same name as his brother," Hermione spoke up. "It's a lot harder to forget."

Fred laughed. "Hermione, you have been spending _far_ too much time around my dear old brother."

"Oh, don't even get me started on the name thing," Ron exclaimed with an obvious shudder. "It's so bloody wrong."

"Why? Because you can actually say the sentence, 'I walked in on Fred and George going at it like rabbits?" Blaise smirked.

Ron shot him a disgusted glare. "Something like that."

"Where is George tonight, anyway?" Hermione asked.

"Doing inventory at the shop," Fred answered with a disgustingly self-satisfied grin. "His scissors lost to my rock."

Ron was looking over at Harry and Draco, a mixed expression on his face. "So… he's back then, is he?"

"We smacked some sense in to him earlier, yes." Blaise answered. "We were actually just talking about how impressed we were that he's postponing the humping and talking things out with Potter—"

"Oops. Spoke too soon." Fred was gesturing over to the pair and Blaise glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Draco whisper something in the Harry's ear, guiding him off his seat and back towards the rear of the club.

"Lovely," Ron muttered.

~.~.~

As soon as they ducked behind the curtains and were out of sight, Draco grabbed narrow shoulders and shoved the smaller boy up against the dark backstage wall. He pressed into his firm little body in undisguised desperation, needing the contact he'd so long been deprived of. Bracing his hands on either side of Harry's head, he assaulted that beautiful mouth with his tongue. He could feel the musician's chest rising and falling in quick busts against his own. Just the thought of having Harry again left Draco moaning into the smaller man's mouth. It had been torture when they were up at the bar, the club lights dancing across Harry's face, colors reflecting in his eyes. His full lips looked positively edible tonight, even more so than Draco remembered. Like sugar coated jujubes, supple and sweet. Had Potter managed to get even sexier during their time apart? Draco wasn't even sure that was possible, but one thing he was certain of was how much he would love to slather the brunet in hot ganache and slowly lick it off, limb by limb, lip by lip…. Draco could barely remember what breathing felt like—and at the moment, he was pretty sure he wasn't doing it. Who had time to worry about breathing when Harry tasted so good, felt _so good? _He had to have him, had to feel that achingly tight space around his cock, had to hear him scream his name…. He ground his hips firmly against Potter's, smirking at the moan that fell from the brunet's lips.

With no warning, he ripped off Harry's t-shirt and bent to suckle at his golden chest. Letting his teeth close down lightly over one of Potter's hard nipples, he trailed a tormenting hand to cup the crotch of the other boy's denims.

"Ungg, Fuck," Harry muttered. "Not… wise, Malfoy. Someone's bound to come back here eventually."

"So?" Draco smirked, voice husky, trailing his mouth back up towards Harry's neck. "If they like it, they can watch." He dragged his teeth along Harry's immaculate skin, nipping at his collar bone. He enjoyed the red marks he was leaving behind, enjoyed the idea that he was defacing something so impeccable with something so intimate as the raw, physical evidence of his lust.

Harry was breathing heavily, eyes closed and head arched back, exposing his beautiful neck. Soft moans were escaping his lips. For once, he was letting Draco take the lead, do as he wanted with him. But the soft moans weren't enough. Draco grabbed Harry's waist and flipped him around to face the wall, the brunet letting out a cry of surprise. Harry's cheek was pressing uncomfortably against the uneven surface of the wall, as Draco abusively held him there, his hands flying to the front of Harry's trousers. He unfastened them as quickly as his scrambling fingers would let him, yanking them down to the boy's knees, along with his pants, leaving Harry's nether regions delightfully bare.

Draco slithered down Harry's body, stroking his hot skin with his fingers and trailing his lips down his back. With the force of Draco's solid weight no longer pressing into him, Harry was able to prop his forearms onto the wall. He dropped his head into the crook of his elbows, breathing through the thought-searing anticipation.

Draco skirted a hot tongue over the soft dimples of Harry's lower back. His back curved into perfectly rounded cheeks, like a sheen of buttermilk poured over a heart-shaped frame—the sight was mesmerizing. Letting his mouth water, Draco gathered all his saliva to the front of his mouth as he carefully spread Harry to expose his enticingly tight, puckered hole. He closed his lips over Harry and lapped wetness over his entrance, feeling the boy shudder noticeably beneath his hands. As Draco darted a tongue teasingly back and forth over Harry's hole, the musician moaned loudly, the words he'd tried to string together dribbling out as unintelligible sounds among wails of pleasure.

"Unggf…mal…I..fu..."

Potter's moaning made Draco's gut tighten painfully. With his fingers clawing into Harry's hips, Draco burrowed his tongue eagerly into the boy's restricted channel. His anus was hot and heavy against his probing tongue, but the blond persisted and he soon had reduced Harry to a whimpering mess, bucking in uncontrolled spasms against his face.

Harry shoved a fist in his mouth just as he was letting out a loud guttural cry. Someone had to have heard that one, it was echoing in his own ears even now. But Draco was doing terrible things to him, terrible, dirty, wonderful things. He'd forgotten how amazing the man was with that incredible tongue of his. He felt like he was drowning in his own ecstasy. He was reeling towards his own climax already. He couldn't take much more of this.

"Dr…aco..." he panted. "I...ugh, fuck!"

He never finished the thought, but Draco got the message. He was standing in a flash, wasting no time as he lowered his zipper and freed his own throbbing erection from the tight confinements of his pants. He sucked on three of his fingers and pressed them into Harry's already loosened opening. Draco waited for the boy's tense muscles to completely relax before curling his fingers upwards, eliciting a breathy whimper from the brunet when they reached their mark.

Draco pulled out to retrieve a condom from his pocket, ripping the package open with his teeth. With one hand supporting his weight on the wall by Harry's head, the blond reached down, palming a few reassuring strokes to his scrotum, testes relaxing and dropping, before he slid the condom over his flushing shaft. Just in case, he added an extra hit of saliva to the already lubricated latex. There was no such thing as "too careful" with a boy as deliciously tight as Harry.

With a vice-like grip on Harry's shoulder, Draco pushed into him slowly. It was both agonizing and relieving; it was dying and going to heaven; it was heart-stopping. Overwhelmed by the absolute ecstasy of being back inside this stunning brunet for the first time in weeks, Draco let his head fall forward onto the boy's sweat-slicked back. He panted as he inched his way in, pressing his lips to Harry's warm shoulder blades.

Harry moaned as Draco reached the hilt, jutting his hips back to take in as much of the blond as possible. Slowly Draco started moving, his hand coming down to Harry's bicep, using it as leverage. He was afraid to speed up, afraid for this feeling to end.

Harry squirmed below him. "Fuck, yer cock is—" he broke off in a gasp as Draco thrust into him deeply. "—yer cock feels so good, so… ughnnnn!" he finished in a broken sob, pushing impatiently into Draco's hips. "Mmm…_harder_."

Draco bit his lip. Potter talking dirty to him wasn't going to help make these valuable moments last. He leaned in closer, snaking a hand between Harry's legs to grip his thick cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts. He sped up slightly, letting out a groan and biting down into Harry's muscular shoulder. This was altogether way too good; too good for Draco to hold out much longer.

Restrain and patience out the window, Draco's heavy, burdening thrusts became longer and faster. His hand was flying over Harry's cock and the smaller man was curving into him, arching impossibly as his cries grew progressively louder. There was the unmistakable seize of Harry's spasming muscles as his climax hit him like a torpedo and, with a brute grunt, Draco's teeth dug into Harry's skin to keep from shouting unintelligible words of pleasure. With a few final thrusts he went reeling over the edge, rapture pulsing through him in violent waves and he was mildly aware that he could taste blood on his lips.

"Fuck," he muttered breathlessly, as he stilled and tried to coach his heart rate back to normal. He opened his eyes and took a look at the spot on Harry's back he'd been digging his teeth into. There was a large red mark there, visible teeth indentations, and a small amount of blood, trickling from where the skin had ripped.

"Shit," Draco muttered, rubbing it very lightly with his thumb. "Yer bleeding. Sorry… does it hurt?"

Harry shook his head, still resting on the wall. "Not really," he answered, turning as Draco pulled his softening cock from his backside. "It might later though, once the effects of the sex wear off." He grinned as he tugged his pants back up over his hips.

Draco tucked himself back into his own slacks and closed the distance between their bodies, again trapping the brunet between himself and the wall. For a moment he just stared into his bright green gaze before leaning in to kiss the man's neck. His skin was moist with perspiration, and Draco could feel Harry's erratic and quickened pulse beneath his lips. He gradually worked his way up to Harry's ear, then jawline, then lips. Harry remained quiet, eyelids fluttering closed at the touch.

"Date me," Draco whispered between kisses.

Harry grinned as the blond's lips moved down to his neck again, passing over his Adam's apple. "Nice try."

Draco slid a hand around Harry's waist, stopping to rest in the small of his back. He licked at the boy's collar bone.

"Date me, Potter. Ya know ya want to."

Harry chuckled. "You may be a fantastic fuck, Malfoy, but that's hardly enough to make me change my mind."

"Endless sex as good as this? Sounds like a rather simple decision to me."

Draco was too busy tending to a soft spot below Harry's ear to see his face but he felt the man let out a petulant sigh. "Tempting, Malfoy. But I'm afraid I'm still going to have to decline."

Draco shrugged and pulled away; Harry was surprised by the shiver that ran over his bare torso at the chilling loss of contact. He hadn't realized how nice the warmth was until it was gone. "Suit yourself, Potter. You won't be declining for long."

He smirked and left Harry alone to finished getting dressed.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Okay so FYI : Orange roses are the embodiment of desire and enthusiasm. They often symbolize passion and excitement and are an expression of fervent romance. A bouquet of orange roses will send a meaningful message.**

**The song used is Harder to Breath, by Maroon Five. Have a listen HERE :) **

**Also FYI **_**La **__**bohème **_**is the original opera version of the Broadway musical Rent. **

**Thanks to a fabulous beta and friend, sordid_humor for all her hard work! 3  
**

**Chapter 10**

The faint sound of sizzling, accompanied by an occasional clanging of what sounded like pots and dishes, woke Harry out of a heavy sleep. At first he thought nothing of it. Mrs. Weasley always got an early start on breakfast and he was sure Ron would be up in no time, waving a piece of bacon in his face and telling him to get some grub before the twins commandeered the whole lot of it.

But as he rolled over, enjoying the sweet smells slowly coaxing his senses awake, he suddenly froze on the spot, his eyes flying open. What the hell was he talking about? He wasn't on holiday and he wasn't at the Weasley's. He was at home: there was no one but himself to make breakfast.

He shot out of bed, hastily grabbing last night's jeans from the floor and pulling them on. He walked the hall in cautious strides, peeking around the wall into the kitchen. The sunlight streaming in through the windows made him squint and raise a hand to shield his eyes.

"You're not allergic to anything, are you?"

Harry couldn't answer, his tongue tied in bafflement.

Silver eyes looked up at him from a mildly back-lit face. "That wasn't a trick question, Potter."

"Malfoy?"

Draco jerked the Teflon pan with a swift flick of his wrist, successfully flipping an omelet to reveal the golden brown egg of the other side. "Not quite the answer I was looking for, Potter. Let me put it this way: I trust you like omelets?"

Rubbing his face in an effort to wake up and perhaps get a better understanding of just what exactly was going on, Harry stepped into the kitchen. "Um, sure, I like them fine. Malfoy, what are you doing in my kitchen?"

"And how do you feel about brie? It's likely a little more dignified than the cuisine that you're used to, but it's never too late to adjust one's palette."

The brunet frowned. "I like brie—but Malfoy, how did you even get in here?"

Still ignoring his questions, the blond suddenly turned away from his work and stepped tantalizingly close to Harry. "And how about blackberries?" he asked, his eyes dancing with impish glee as he brought a plump berry towards Harry's lips, its red juice dripping down his thumb.

Harry held his breath as Draco lightly pressed the fruit to his bottom lip. The smaller man opened his mouth, letting Malfoy gently ease the berry inside, along with his index finger. Harry closed his mouth over the pale finger, the tart juices of the berry mixing with the subtle sweet taste of Draco's skin.

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Draco ever-so-slowly pulled his finger out from between Potter's lips. Harry's eyes were wide and confused as he watched the man's handsome face. For the first time he noticed that Malfoy was vaguely angelic; his pointed, symmetrical features and ivory skin painting an image of serenity. But his shockingly silver eyes were what gave him away—there was a sharpness behind them, a lustre of wit and life.

"Good?" Draco whispered, his mouth inches away from Harry's.

Harry nodded dumbly and Draco pulled away.

"Splendid. I'm almost done here. Sit down."

Harry actually obliged but the perplexed expression never fell from his face as he watched Draco move around his kitchen as if it were something he did every day. Harry looked down at the table in front of him, which was already set with a placemat, cutlery and a coffee mug. He frowned; he didn't even know he _had_ placemats. "So, again…how did you—"

"Granger," Draco replied simply before Harry could finish the question. He delicately plated the omelet, garnished it with a couple extra berries, then grabbed the coffee pot which had just finished brewing.

"I'm not sure how wise it is to use a code that can easily be tortured out of somebody as means of securing your home," he advised, setting the plate in front of Harry and pouring piping-fresh coffee into the mug beside it.

"You didn't torture her," Harry said, more in statement than in question.

"No. I didn't. She was more than willing to give it up," Draco replied with a slight roll of his eyes. "Which is worse. But it worked in my favour so…."

Harry was gaping foolishly at the plate in front of him. "Wow. This looks amazing."

"And it tastes even better," Malfoy confirmed with a nod.

"Aren't you going to eat?" the brunet asked, picking up his fork and glancing up to notice that the other side of the table wasn't set.

Draco shook his head. "Way too fattening for my diet. Should be perfect for you though," he crooned, the sunny rays filtering into the kitchen and reflecting the spirit in his eyes.

Harry dug his fork into his meal and cut off a large bite, bringing it eagerly to his mouth.

He chewed for a split second and froze. "Oh my God," he moaned, eyes drooping shut in pleasure. His words were muffled by his full mouth. "This is heavenly."

"Of course it is. I made it."

Harry swallowed another heaping forkful of egg, brie and blackberries. "This isn't going to work you know," he stared slowly. He pushed his breakfast around his plate with his fork, watching the steam drift up off the dish. He stared at it in thought, for once finding himself unable to meet the striking grey eyes of the man standing above him.

"What won't work?" His delivery was simple but his voice was smooth, almost silky, as if unperturbed, unfazed by Harry's words.

Harry looked up at him. "This isn't going to get me to date you."

The blond smirked but said nothing on the subject, his shiny silvery fringe falling forward as he brought his lips to the edge of his precariously full coffee mug. "Eat up, Potter. It's not as good if you let it get cold."

~.~.~

The following Friday rolled around and Harry had yet to hear from Draco. That wasn't terribly unusual, as they had a tendency to communicate more around the weekends but, as Harry lifted his guitar case onto his bed, he couldn't help but smile gently to himself, reminded of the conversation he'd had with the blond a week prior about his apparent incompetence with all things music related.

He flicked the clasps open, deciding to check that he had everything for tonight's show and throw in some new picks if needed. But when he lifted the lid, he gasped and immediately stilled in shock. Inside was his guitar—covered in a layer of stunningly orange rose petals. Harry slowly picked one up, fingering the soft velvet fuzz of its surface as he looked for a note of any kind. There was nothing else—just his tuner, picks, and the sweet floral scent that was now filling the room.

It wasn't until he was out the door and getting into the car that he found the sticky-note pasted to his windshield.

"_Date Me."_

~.~.~

_From: Potter, H._

_- You were right. My guitar is completely out of tune. Either it was you, or the flowers._

_Sent: 4:36 PM_

- It wasn't the flowers. It also wasn't because I dropped the case when I was putting it back in the closet because I stubbed my toe on your night stand.

- Wow. How did you not wake me?

- Magic.

Draco paused for a moment after he sent the last message and, with a devilish grin, started typing again.

_- Oh, and because you sleep like the dead and I am a God._

_- You really should think more highly of yourself._

_- I know. Creator of all things just doesn't seem enough to me either..._

_- You coming to the show tonight?_

_- Depends. Are you naked in this show of yours?_

_- Well, no._

_- Hmm, not interested then._

_- You sure? I could always get naked afterwards._

_- I'll be there. But you can anticipate getting molested in a public place._

_- I'll pack my pepper spray._

~.~.~

"Hey, Draco!" George called, fussing with his hair in the hallway mirror. "Do you know what you're wearing tonight?"

Malfoy stepped out of his bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair still dripping from his shower. "George, sweet George," he drawled, waving a hand over his bare chest. "I always know what I'm wearing."

Seeing Draco's reflection in the mirror, George blushed slightly and turned to face him. "Um, Draco, would it be cheating on Fred if I were to tell you that you're so sexy, it makes me want to die a little?"

The blond chuckled. "No—but don't elaborate because I can't be responsible for what I do to a cute bloke like yourself if he's dishing out the compliments. And I don't want any more of the Weasleys to hate me," he added with a smirk, grabbing a beer from the fridge.

He offered one to George, who accepted, and Draco strolled back into his room. "Okay, I know you're probably suffering—I'll get dressed."

"Depends on what kind of suffering you're referring to..." George mumbled as the blond left the room.

Ten minutes later, Malfoy emerged in casual black slacks, a grey slim-fitting t-shirt and a washed denim jacket, the collar folded upwards.

"Wow, don't you look positively edible," George offered with a grin.

"Yeah? I haven't worn this jacket in ages but it seems right up Potter's alley…." His hair was styled in a thick, slightly tousled do–a relaxed look that Harry was sure to appreciate.

"_Yeah_," George echoed with a smirk, as if mocking the fact that Draco would even need to ask. "Harry's a lucky man." His gaze slid up and down Draco's lean figure and he licked his lips playfully for emphasis.

Draco laughed. "Down, child. You're too young to look at me like that."

George shot him a melodramatic pout. "Hardly."

Sniggering, the blond approached him and swung an arm around his narrow shoulders. "I'm kidding. I'd jump you in a second, if I didn't think Weasel would have my sorry balls for it."

"And if you weren't so hung up on Potter," George added. He glanced at himself in the mirror again, tugging at the hem of his chequered shirt in contemplation. "I don't know though… I wasn't sure about this shirt..."

Draco laughed. "You're over thinking it, Haywood. I'm a miserable hypocrite for saying it because my vain ass is guilty of the same crime—but trust me, you look great." He leaned back from George, glancing over his attire briefly. "Here, why don't you just..." He rolled up the sleeves of George's plaid shirt to a three-quarter length and undid an extra button, revealing more of the black a-shirt underneath. He eyed his neatly styled dusty locks and laced his fingers into them, loosening the style, something he never could have seen himself doing in the past. Potter was converting him. "There," he said, flashing George a triumphant grin and kissing him lightly on the cheek. "You're set."

"Thanks," the smaller boy beamed, admiring his reflection shyly, fingers toying with his newly tousled locks. "Should we go soon? I told Fred we'd meet him there around 10:30."

Malfoy took the last swig of his beer and studied the empty bottle for a moment. He looked back up at George. "A couple more?"

George downed the rest of his own beer in response, handing Draco his bottle. "Lay it on me, gorgeous."

~.~.~

A couple more turned into several more and the two blonds didn't stumble into a cab until just before eleven. Fortunately for Draco, beer didn't hit him as fast as hard liquor but George was another story.

"There's NO shame in bein' a ligh' weight," the younger boy declared.

"Shhhh!" Draco ushered, snickering. "Yer yellin', Haywood."

George's eyes went wide and he leaned forward slightly in his seat, as if trying to be inconspicuous. "Oh. Sorrrryyy!" he whispered dramatically.

Draco shook his head. "Great. I hope Fred doesn't blame me fer this."

As if on cue, Draco's phone buzzed.

_From: Weasel Twin 1_

_- Hey. Are you with George? He's not answering his phone. You guys on your way?_

_Sent: 10:52 PM_

The blond frowned as he read the message. "George, where's your phone?"

"Ma' pocket. Why?"

"Yer hubby's been calling ya," he explained, showing the text message to George, who squinted at the blurry letters. "He must think I kidnapped ya."

Reaching into his jacket pocket, George pulled out his phone. "Ah, shit. S'off. Musta died."

Draco was already texting the red-head back.

_- Be there in 5. Sorry about the delay. Got a little carried away with the beer..._

_- Haha. It's all good._

He closed his phone with a sigh, relieved Fred didn't seem angry.

As Draco helped George out the cab with a light but supportive hand on his elbow, he realized he could hear Harry's voice echoing from inside the club. The musician was addressing the crowd and as Draco and George crossed the street and stood at the end of the short line to get in, some of Potter's words were decipherable.

"…another great night…thanks again…"

The few people in front of them went inside and Draco stepped up and handed the bouncer his and George's ID. He was closer to the doors now and could hear Harry more clearly.

"…I reckon it's a bit of a tradition now, so we've got another cover for you guys to finish off the night."

Finally making it through the doors, Draco's eyes immediately cut to the stage where Harry was standing breathless and sweaty from what had apparently been an active and successful show. He turned his back to the audience, giving a quick nod to Ron, who started in on his drums with enthusiasm.

Keeping a hand on George's shoulder, Draco weaved through the busy club, trying to focus on finding Fred and not on the aphrodisiac that was Potter's overwhelming talent.

"_How dare you say that my behaviour's unacceptable,_

_So condescending, unnecessarily critical._

_I have the tendency of getting very physical,_

_So watch your step cause if I do you'll need a miracle."_

Spotting the red-head at a table on the far side of the room, Draco guided the small blond in front of him to head in the right direction. He made eye contact with Fred as the man finally saw them approaching and returned his small wave and grin of acknowledgment. He tried to keep his straying eyes from finding the stage. He had to stay focused and in control of himself and Potter in the spotlight made that task nearly impossible. The sight of the brunet's trim body rolling with the waves of his songs, his shoulders pumping to his own heavy beat, never failed to leave Draco a hopeless, bumbling mess.

"_What you are doing is screwing things up inside my head,_

_You should know better, you never listened to a word I said._

_Clutching your pillow and writhing in a naked sweat,_

_Hoping somebody someday will do you like I did."_

Draco shuddered at the imagery that flashed behind his lids at Harry's words… _c__lutching your pillow and writhing in a naked sweat…_. It made him realize that even after all this time they'd never once fucked on a bed. Every time they'd gotten together it had always been on a pretty 'right here, right now' kind of basis. Suddenly the blond wanted nothing more than to take Harry between the sheets.

"Hey, Baby," Fred greeted his boyfriend with a grin, standing as Draco handed the staggering blond off to him. "Feeling tipsy?"

As the Weasley sat George down at the table and took the spot next to him, he glanced up a Draco with amused eyes. "So did he drink the whole fridge, or what?"

Draco was distracted as he sat down, still avoiding looking at the stage. "Uh, not exactly," he replied. "But it's not hard to drink yer weight when yer little over nine stone."

Draco caught the pout George sent his way and responded with a sly grin. George _was_ terribly small and skinny; no harm in calling a spade a spade.

"_When it gets cold outside and you got nobody to love,_

_You'll understand what I mean when I say,_

_There's no way we're gonna give up._

_And like a little girl cries in the face of a monster that lives in her dreams,_

_Is there anyone out there 'cause it's getting harder and harder to breathe,_

_Is there anyone out there 'cause it's getting harder and harder to breathe."_

Losing the battle he'd been having with himself, Draco caved and looked to the stage as Harry's voice etched the last staccato lyrics of the chorus. Just as he'd expected, the raven-haired man looked like sex on a bloody stick. Breaking into an impressive guitar solo, Harry leaned backwards, fingers flying over the strings as he pulsed slightly with each new bar of the music. There were beads of sweat dripping from his hairline and down the sides of his face. He was biting his lower lip, pulling the flesh between his teeth in supreme concentration.

"_Does it kill,_

_Does it burn,_

_Is it painful to learn,_

_That it's me that has all the control?_

_Does it thrill,_

_Does it sting,_

_When you feel what I bring,_

_And you wish that you had me to hold?"_

Well, fuck. Really? Was Potter purposefully being a tremendous twat with his cover choice? Draco's pale brows creased into a frown before he finally turned his back on the stage. Who was he kidding? Of course it wasn't intentional—being a complete asshat came naturally to the smug little shit, he didn't have to plan these things.

But he'd be damned if he was going to let Harry fuck with his head anymore. Draco was well aware of the brunet's conniving little mind games by now. He knew Potter was only trying to get a rise out of him and Draco had no intentions of giving him the satisfaction.

After the band had played their closing notes, Draco waited five or ten minutes before excusing himself from the table and making his way over to the front of the club where he stood at the base of the stage. When Harry caught sight of the blond, he grinned and walked over to him, crouching so they could talk.

"Sorry, Potter, I just missed yer show," Draco only half-lied. He was almost surprised by the easy cheer on Harry's warm features; his eyes were sparkling with a friendly merriment that was uncharacteristically open.

Harry waved a hand dismissively. "Don't think on it. We'll do plenty more." He eyed Draco's attire, eyebrows lifting into his damp fringe. "Wow, you look fit. First time I've seen you in anything other than a button up," he added with a smirk.

"I thought you might approve," Draco said, returning his smirk and hooking a finger into the neckline of Harry's t-shirt to pull him in for a kiss.

Harry met Draco's lips readily, darting his tongue into the blond's mouth before putting a hand on Draco's shoulder to push himself up. "I better finish up here. I'll meet you over there in a few," he said, nodding to the table Fred and George were at.

About fifteen minutes later, Draco caught sight of Ron and Hermione making their way towards the booth, drinks in hand.

"Oi! There'll be no more sucking face, you two," Ron warned, pointing an accusatory finger at his brother and the boy in his arms. Shooting them meaningful glares, he nodded to Draco. "Hey, Malfoy," he greeted, letting Hermione sit down first before taking the seat beside here. "Havin' a good night?"

"I've got beer," he replied. "So I can't complain. Where's Potter?"

Hermione looked at Ron with a shrug. "Last I saw he was packing the last of his stuff into the car," she offered.

Draco checked over his shoulder to see the stage was now deserted. His eyes skimmed the dance floor and he was about to turn his attention back to the table when a familiar black cap covering a disorderly head of dark hair caught his attention and he did a double take.

The collar of Draco's shirt suddenly felt awfully tight. His fingers curled into tight fists and he sensed that every tendon in his body was pulling, taut and constricted. His shoulders tensed, his eyes narrowed; he was moments away from actually growling.

Out in the middle of the dance floor, Potter was wrapped in the arms of some pathetically 'scene', overly trendy, indie inspired, good-for-nothing punk, their hips pressed together in a slow grind.

The man's arms were decorated with tattoos. He wore a navy blue toque and chequered vans, and judging by the way his denims sat low and tight on his backside, narrowing impossibly tight around the ankles, the sod was wearing women's jeans. The most disturbing element, however, was not the way he kept flicking long dark fringe out of his eyes with jerky twitches of his head, but how fixated he was on a certain tanned, lithe little frame the Draco shamelessly felt was his territory.

"If you'll excuse me," Draco gritted out through clenched teeth, getting up and nodding fleetingly to the others at the table. "I have a stray cast member of _La __bohème_ to dispose of."

He was upon them in seconds and before either man could notice his presence, Draco pulled the hipster off of Harry by the back of his shirt. Thankfully, the stranger was smaller than him, closer to Harry's size only scrawnier. Taking advantage of his upper hand, Draco spun the man around, planting an angry kiss on his shocked lips. He ground his groin into the other boy's pelvis before abruptly ending the kiss—if you could call it that, it had been more of an assault, really.

"That should satisfy your libido until you can find someone else to choke on your cock," Draco spat with a venomous snarl, his tone dripping with disdain. "Now, sod off." With a forceful shove he released his grip from the man's clothing and grabbed hold of Harry's arm. "Come on, Potter." Turning on his heel, he tugged Harry through the club and out the back door.

Once outside, Draco veered left to head around the corner of the building and finally came to a stop in a narrow brick alley.

Harry spoke up for the first time. "Malfoy, you are so out of line. I was just dancing—"

"Shut up, Potter," the blond growled out as he violently threw Harry against the cold brick wall, ensuing a serious _déjà-vu_. He muffled Harry's grunt of pain with his lips; crashing, his mouth assailed the brunet's with a fierce and possessive kiss. He pressed a strong hand to the boy's chest, holding him against the wall as his other hand flew to the fly of Harry's jeans.

"Mafloy, what—" Harry sputtered against Draco's aggressive lips.

"I said, can it, Potter." He yanked Harry's pants down and frantically started on his own fly. "Kick them off," he ordered, nodding to the trousers that were now around the brunet's ankles. He was slightly surprised when Harry obliged without a word.

Shivering as he pulled his own erection from his pants, exposing it to the night's chill, Draco padded at his trouser pockets, cursing under his breath. "Shit. I don't have—"

At the sound of Harry clearing his throat, Draco looked up to see him brandishing a shiny packet as it crinkled between his fingertips. He'd nicked the condom from his own jean pockets and was now just finishing kicking his shoes and trousers away. The second his feet were free, Draco pressed into him again, hitching both of Harry's legs up around his hips with a sure, solid grip on his muscular thighs.

Harry grunted as he bounced against the wall, his t-shirt lifting slightly, exposing the skin of his lower back to the abrasive stone, the course surface leaving marks in his flesh. But then Draco's hands slipped from his hips to his bare waist, clutching his sides in a bruising grip and all else was forgotten. Draco's fingers were rough and damaging but the touch of his soft, hot palms on Harry's skin sent all his other senses careening into overdrive. Having Draco touch him was like being hit with a defibrillator, electricity pulsing through him and igniting every nerve, every tendon, every follicle on his writhing body—as though before this, everything he'd ever felt had been nothing but a fraction of what he was capable of feeling, of what he was feeling now.

Ripping off his hat and tossing it to the ground, Harry watched as Draco gathered precum off his throbbing cock—throbbing _massive _cock… blimey, had he ever taken the time to appreciate just how _hung_ Draco was? No wonder he saw stars whenever the man was fucking his brains out—Harry was surprised Draco hadn't ripped him in half by now. But he'd never felt anything less than erotic bliss with Draco's impossibly long, thick prick inside him, pounding at his hole like he was trying to nail him to the wall… or dresser, or couch, or floor… The pain only made it all the more rewarding, all the more mind-numbingly exceptional.

Draco was on a rampage. Angry lust was pumping through his veins like fire, scorching his thoughts, blurring his vision. He couldn't think straight. He had to reclaim Harry, reclaim him, make Harry _his _despite the musician's staunch insistence otherwise. He rubbed two wet fingers over Harry's hole and watched from beneath heavy lids as the brunet threw his head back against the wall, Draco's finger pushing inside. Overwhelmed with desire, Draco brought his lips to Harry's neck as he prepped him, reminding himself not to rush it but wishing desperately that he could.

His erection was still dripping in what had become a very painful arousal. He wasn't sure if it was the jealousy or just the fact that Harry seemed to do these things to him, but he felt a bit as though he hadn't had sex in months. He felt vicious, animal. And yet, when Harry met his lips in an impassioned kiss, Draco felt an odd, soothing wave wash over him. It reminded him of that night he'd first taken Harry back to his flat and asked him to stay: the softness of his kiss, the sweetness of his tongue. And here Draco was, consumed with uncontrollable need, desperate desire and indignant lust, and it was now that Harry decided to counter-attack with gentle, meaningful touches.

Draco's temporary calm trampled by extreme confusion and frustration, he snatched the condom from Harry's grasp, ripped it open with fumbling fingers and rolled it onto his leaking member. With his mouth still clamped onto Harry's, enjoying the heat and the wetness of the man's lips, Draco pressed his anxious cock to the boy's entrance, prodding at the puckered hole without actually penetrating.

When he felt Harry groan against his lips, Draco shoved inside in one impatient thrust, causing the smaller man to let out a fervent wail, finally breaking the kiss. Forcing himself to still in an effort to let Harry relax into the intrusion, Draco tried to focus on the weight of the brunet's legs hooked around the sharp angles of his hips, the sound of Harry's heavy breathing, the feeling of his fingers slippery with sweat grasping at the back of Draco's neck. That method pretended to work all of three miserable seconds. Draco surrendered then, pummelling Harry's ass as hard and fast as he could. He lost all grasp of time; he could have had Harry against that wall two minutes or twenty, there was no way of knowing, but soon his breathing became erratic and shallow, his chest sore and rasping for breath, his calves seizing under the pressure. He took the musician with reckless abandon, took him as thoroughly and aggressively as possible, his body positively vibrating, begging for release. He was so close, so close….

"FUCK!" Harry shrieked as one of Draco's thrusts struck particularly powerfully against his prostate. He was fisting his own shaft furiously now and with only a few more accurate thrusts on Draco's part, Harry was screaming Draco's name and grabbing a fistful of white-blond hair with his other hand.

Draco continued to drive into Harry as the brunet's sticky cum jetted in hot streams onto Draco's shirt clad stomach. As he rode out Harry's extensive orgasm, the smaller man's muscles clenched over his cock in what could only be described as paralyzing pleasure and in mere moments Draco was exploding into Harry's body, twitching and trembling.

As both men gasped for air, silent save for their wheezing breaths, Draco very carefully slid his arms up around Harry's back, lifting the boy off his cock and gently placing him down on his unsteady legs. Now that his lust was satiated and he was sluggishly coaxing his weakened body back to life, he felt the anger dampen and ebb away like sand through his fingers. He was left with only a warm, tranquil hush, blanketing his tingling nerves.

He pressed up against Harry's warm body, one hand grazing his naked thigh, and brushed a tender kiss to his mouth.

"Don't move," Draco whispered against Harry's lips. "Wait right here, yeah? I'm gonna get yer pants."

Harry nodded breathlessly and watched as the blond moved to gather Harry's things, which had been kicked in scattered piles around their feet. The faintest, tired grin graced his lips when Draco crouched and held Harry's pants down near the boy's ankles so he could step into them. Still resting some of his weight on the wall, Harry let Draco drag the boxers up his legs and over his backside. To his surprise, the blond hovered there a moment and pressed a warm kiss to Harry's hipbone. When he stood, he held out Harry's jeans in his hand.

"You okay to get these on?" he asked softly.

Harry had trouble finding his words, mesmerized by Malfoy's sensitivity. He nodded. "Yeah...yeah, of course."

Draco nodded curtly and retrieved Harry's shoes, placing them by his feet. When Harry had pulled on his jeans and started stepping into his Globes, Draco came up behind him and slipped his arms around the boy's narrow waist, kissing his neck.

Harry hummed at the touch and grinned, grateful that Draco couldn't see his face and the euphoria in his expression. "So, I reckon we've established you're definitely the jealous type," he teased.

"Yes. Sharing doesn't come naturally," the blond replied. "I once punched a kid for taking my Kit Kat bar."

Harry snorted. "That doesn't surprise me."

Draco let his arms slide around Harry's waist as the boy turned in his arms and faced him. He couldn't help his love of sweet things. "Potter—ya fuck me up," Draco admitted in shamed defeat. "Seriously. I could have killed that bloke back there. An' I'm fairly certain I roughed ya up a bit, too."

Harry absently rubbed his shoulder; it was slightly tender from being slammed against the wall. "In your defense, you did forewarn me about molesting me in a public place."

"Not as public as I would have liked," Draco added. "But I'm sure there are a couple stragglers in the neighborhood who heard us."

His eyes searched Harry's for a moment and for the first time, he saw a smidgen of vulnerability there, as if the person behind those swirling green orbs was fighting the temptation to jump out and reveal himself.

Very slowly, Draco leaned into Harry's ear, letting his hot breath stroke against the boy's already shivering skin. His nose brushed against soft dark locks and he pressed his lips to the shell of Harry's ear ever so lightly. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of him, his natural spice mixing with the physical effects of his exertion, sweaty and real. Harry seemed to breathe with him, his chest expanding and falling in rhythm with Draco's. With his eyes still closed, Draco whispered into Harry's ear.

"Date me, Potter."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Okay so you guys are in for an interesting chapter! Just a heads up, I found a short video of something that is quite similar to what I had envisioned for Harry's show (that will make sense later) I won't link you to it now, because I don't want to spoil the fun, but I WILL link it within the story, so keep your eyes peeled—the link will be in the lyrics. I highly suggest you watch it when it comes around, it's only a 30 secs or so, but I pleased to find it because it was close to what I'd had in mind PS. It starts at 0:19**

**(Dear ff . net users: Apparently I can't post links on here, so please go to writtenmatrix. livejournal. com (minus the spaces) or search WrittenMatrix on SilverSnitch or Hexfiles if you want to see the links!)  
**

**THIS is the version of the song used. There a MILLION different versions, most of them sounding like chipmunks which pissed me off. But finally I found the right one on Youtube after much searching and cursing.**

**Also for the curious, here are samples of:**

Aerial Silks

The Firedancers (inspired by ones I saw while in the Mayan Riviera)

Paint Drumming

Capoeira

**Chapter 11**

Much to Draco's disappointment, Harry hadn't complied with his suggestion—hence his waking up alone the next morning. Nonetheless, he couldn't help but feel that he'd made some progress. He had a sense that Harry was inching closer to surrender.

His phone vibrated with waiting messages and he grabbed it, flipping it open to see that there were two unread.

_From: Haywood, George_

_–I hate you._

_Sent: 9:31 AM_

The blond smirked as he replied.

_ –How was I supposed to know you couldn't hold your beer?_

_–Fuck you._

_–Lol. Testy this morning._

_–My head feels like it got run over by a double-decker._

_–Were you sick?_

_–Very. Not till this morning though._

_–Harsh._

_–I'm never drinking again._

_–Yeah right. See you next weekend._

Remembering he'd had a second message, Draco clicked back to his inbox. It was from Harry.

_From: Potter, H._

_–So I had something to tell you last night but you were too busy throwing me around dirty alleys to let me get to it._

_Sent: 9:26 AM_

_–I'll admit I was pretty distracted. Next time don't try to bump uglies with hipster kids._

_–You're so eloquent._

_–What did you want to tell me?_

_–… You can't laugh, yeah?_

_–I'll agree to that but only because we're texting and I could laugh all I want and you wouldn't be the wiser._

_–It was nearly two minutes before Draco received a reply._

_–Great. Well, I have another show tonight… but it's something really different._

_–Finally. A strip show. I'm there._

_–Not exactly. The Requirement is hosting a review called Smoke and Mirrors. They've even hired professional circus performers. Ron, Mione and I are performing in it._

_–Somehow I'm having trouble connecting the dots…_

_–We're not performing as Wandless Magic. We're just doing the music for the finale. Ron's on turntables, Hermione's on keyboard and they've got me singing… and, well, dancing._

_–...HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA _

_–…You know I can read that, right?_

_–I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at you. I just can't get the image of Weasel scratching discs out of my head. And to be perfectly frank, I lied… I'm laughing at you too._

_–Ron's actually pretty good._

_–There are no words. So, you… dance?_

_–A little, yes. Hip Hop mostly… It was something I was into a while back, interesting way to stay fit. Don't do much of it these days but I guess you could say I'm pretty good._

_–But you're singing too?_

_–Uh-huh. And yes, I'll have a headset — Not a word, Malfoy._

_–You know, I think N'sync is looking for another member._

_–I promise it's not what you're expecting._

_–Oh Jesus, can I please frost your hair? They always had ridiculous frosted tips._

_–I take it that means you're coming?_

_–How could I pass up the chance to watch you bounce around on stage like Justin Timberlake? I'll be there with popcorn._

~.~.~

"Are you nervous?"

"As fuck."

Harry chuckled, sneaking a glance at Ron. "Don't be—" He stopped short. The woman currently working black makeup into the creases of his eye lids rapped his chin with her fingers to get him to stop moving. He swallowed. He hoped she was almost done; he'd had people working on his wardrobe and makeup for the better part of an hour and was only just getting feeling back in his scalp since the punishment it had undergone from the stylist. It felt like half of his hair had been ripped from his skull—which confused him actually, because he didn't think his hair was naturally that far removed from what it was supposed to look like for the theme anyhow.

"Harry, this is a big deal, yeah? They've been sold out for weeks! The place is going to be packed."

"Shit, that reminds me," Harry muttered, grateful when the makeup artist moved to other parts of his face and he was able to open his eyes again. "How many passes do you think we can get?"

Ron was messing around on his laptop, double and triple checking that he had all his effects in order for the show. "I think they said two per performer—woah, you look kind of freaky, mate," he said as he glanced up and got his first good look at his friend's stage makeup.

"That's the idea, I guess," Harry replied, peeking at his reflection. He was distracted though when Hermione's face appeared in the mirror, hovering at his shoulder despite her being clear across the room.

"Knock knock," she said as she peered into the open door of the boy's room. The manager of The Room of Requirement had opened up his flat for extra backstage space and the bedrooms were being used as make-shift dressing rooms.

"Wow, 'Mione, you look brilliant," Harry said grinning wildly at her.

She'd gone through a bit of a transformation as well, her hair pin straight, sitting sleek and shiny on her shoulders and she had extensive dark makeup around her eyes, with ruby red lips. Large gold hoops hung from her ears and she donned a fitted lavender tank top and black cargo pants that sat low and flattering on her curvy hips.

Noticing that Ron had gotten oddly quiet on the right hand side of the room, Harry glanced over to see the red-head gawking slack-jawed at Hermione. Harry cleared his throat loudly and gave him a pointed look.

"Oh, erm, yeah," Ron said lamely, unsuccessfully trying to act normal. "I like the uh…" He stumbled, gesturing to his own body imprecisely, apparently struggling with finding something to compliment that didn't leave him staring in inappropriate places. He blushed violently, clearing his throat, until he finally settled with mumbling 'hair' in a barely audible voice, before turning his back on them and finding himself very focused on packing up his DJ equipment.

Harry and Hermione exchanged entertained glances. Hermione was blushing slightly but her small smile conveyed her shy satisfaction. Harry smirked up at her, pressing his tongue to the inside of his lower lip to keep from laughing out loud. He shook his head, eyes dancing with amusement as he flashed the girl a wink.

The makeup artist nodded to Harry to indicate she'd finished and he stood, clearing his throat and breaking the awkward silence. "I'd say it's about time for a tech-run, yeah?"

They headed out of the room and Harry took up the rear, pulling out his phone to call Draco.

~.~.~

Draco was trying to decide what to wear. He stared at his closet in gloomy frustration. Nothing was right. He had nearly a hundred square feet worth of walk-in wardrobe space and yet he couldn't find a single article that pleased him. When he'd moved in with Blaise nearly three years ago, he'd dragged the Italian all over London, visiting flat after flat, immediately turning on his heel if he didn't find fair closet space. He'd _wanted_ the one with the dressing-room wardrobe, complete with a lighted mirror and sink, but that was where Blaise had drawn the line. Well-paying jobs or not, he refused to spend frivolously on unnecessary luxuries. Obviously Blaise failed to see the blurry line between luxury and a way of life—Draco's life, to be precise. Still, their flat was more than tolerable.

Draco toyed with his lower lip, contemplating calling for Blaise. His friend would only mock him, he was sure of it, but still…

"Wear the white V-neck."

"What?" Draco turned to see Blaise already standing in the doorway with a cup of coffee, as if he'd predicted Draco's dilemma and was arriving upon some cosmic, celestial cue. For a straight fellow, Blaise could sometimes hear the fashion Gods calling. Italians.

"The white V-neck," he repeated, taking a sip of his drink before continuing. "That short sleeved one you wear around the flat all the time. You're comfortable in it and it looks good."

Draco fished it from a drawer in his closet and held it up, eyeing it dubiously. "Really? I don't know, I—"

"Wear it with nice denims," Baise said, cutting him off. "Dark blue ones—they'll dress it up a bit. Throw on a jumper and you'll be set." He grinned slightly at the sceptical look on Draco's face, rolling his eyes. "Just trust me, ya bloody poofter," he said. "It's rather painful watching you fuss about like a damn bird."

Draco raised an eyebrow at the Italian. "And when did you become a clothing expert, Zabini?" he inquired, tugging his shirt off his narrow shoulders to bring the white tee over his head.

"I didn't," Blaise drawled with an unconcerned shrug. "I'm a Draco expert. I know ya like the back of my hand, Malfoy."

"The palm, more like," Draco corrected, smirking at his friend before reaching for his nicest jeans—rich blue ones with smart black stitching. As he took them off the hanger, he glanced at himself in the mirror on the wall. "I'm not sure if white's the best idea," he mused, rolling his eyes at the memory of the dress shirt his dry cleaner had demanded a tidy fortune to salvage. Never before had he flinched running his credit card through the reader. It was a commoner's experience—something Malfoys should be above.

Blaise snorted. "Just don't get so fucking sloshed this time," he muttered, turning to leave the room.

Grinning after him, Draco started to get out of his trousers when his pocket vibrated. Retrieving his mobile, he flipped it open quickly, holding it to his ear with his shoulder as he finished unfastening his belt.

"Yeah?" He winced. He hadn't bothered to check the screen. It could have been someone from the office, and that terse greeting would have been a mite unprofessional.

"Hey, it's me."

Draco stilled, a surprised grin gradually finding his lips. When had he and Harry gotten to the point where a casual 'it's me' was a sufficient introduction?

"Wow Potter, an actual phone call. To what do I owe the honour?"

"I can only get two free passes tonight. So use them for your friends and I'll put you on a list at the door."

Trying to step into his jeans without dropping the phone, Draco raised both his elegant brows with his sarcastically fascinated reply. "Why how influential of you. Does your fame get you everything you want, Wonder Boy?"

"I have a bit of pull with the door man."

"And I'll bet I wouldn't want to know why," Draco muttered, teasing.

At that moment, Blaise peeked his head into the room again, gesturing to the phone and mouthing 'Potter' in question.

Draco nodded and tried to wave him away but the Italian romped into the room, fanning his face like a smitten woman, all mime-giggling and coy. The blond shot him the bird but Blaise ignored him, bending over and placing a hand on the door frame, mimicking being taken from behind.

"_Oh, Harry,"_ he ridiculed in a high pitch whisper. "_Harder Harry!"_

The real Harry was talking on the other end of the phone but Draco was considerably distracted. He snatched a shoe from his wardrobe and hurdled it across the room at Blaise, who ducked it and burst out laughing.

"Sorry, Blaise is being a git. What was that, Potter?" Draco absentmindedly twiddled the hem of his t-shirt, hoping Harry hadn't heard Zabini's taunting. He glared daggers at Blaise's back as his friend walked away.

"I said you should come by early if you want to get somewhere to sit. I have a feeling we'll be over-capacity."

"Yeah, alright," Draco agreed. "I'll see you tonight."

Hanging up, he stormed out of his room after Blaise. "Zabini!" he hollered. "You bloody twatter, I'm going to fucking throttle you!"

~.~.~

George was practically vibrating with excitement, chattering in a voice so fast and so high that Draco had a feeling only dogs could hear him now.

"Okay, who gave coffee to the Chihuahua?" Blaise drawled, eyeing the jittering blond in alarm. "Jesus, George. Pretend like there's a cock in there and just breathe through your nose."

They'd managed to find a table on the upper level of the club that looked down over the stage and the dance floor. There'd been five or six performances already, most of them having been unique versions or interpretations of modern top charts music. Some had been vocalists doing remixed covers, others had done solo or team dance routines. The most recent however, had been a particularly impressive performance with black light paint drummers and _Capoeira _dancers. Their white pants had added to the effect of the black lights and by the end, neon paint had speckled their bare chests and white clothing. The rhythmic, heavy drumming left the club echoing loudly when they'd finished and the cheering had yet to die down even now, long after the performers had left the stage.

"Wow. That must be a bitch to clean," Blaise said after the screaming in the club had subsided enough for him to be heard over it.

"It looks like they have some sort of mat put down on the stage," Draco replied. "And I think they use grease paint. That shit never dries."

Sure enough, two men came to crouch at the sides of the stage and began rolling up the large black mat as the host—a woman clad in a skin tight silver dress and an ice white wig—returned to the front of the club and waited for the cheering to fade. She'd changed since the last time they'd seen her and she now wore overstated fake eyelashes that sparkled under the spotlights each time she blinked. There was a massive silver and gold lightning bolt on the left side of her face.

Blaise snorted in contempt. "Okay, did Lady Gaga _throw up_ on that woman?"

Reaching for his ale, Draco grunted in agreement. "She should have gone with the meat dress."

George's gay was dripping from the rafters, his head having exploded half-way through the shirtless dance extravaganza. "…OhmyGod, and then when-the-paint-started-going-everywhere and the-strobe-lights-came-on-and-the-smoke-filled-the-stage-and-the-dancers-were-sort-of-weaving-in-and-out-of-it, ohmy_God_! I can't believe how cool that was! I wish I could do something like that. I used to take dance classes you know, I wasn't very good but maybe I should do it again—"

Draco and Blaise looked at the young man bouncing up and down in his seat with somewhat bored expressions.

"Is he _still_ talking?" Blaise asked, shooting his roommate a staggered look.

"Sorry," Draco mumbled, shaking his head and then continuing the conversation as if George wasn't there. "I think it was the Red Bull I gave him."

George—who hadn't been paying his companions an ounce of attention, still rambling as he watched the stagehands set up for the next show—seemed to check back in at the mention of the drink Draco had ordered him early on in the night.

"Oh, that stuff was so good. What was that drink called again? A Jagger Bomb?"

At the quirked eyebrow Blaise sent his way, Draco elaborated, the regret evident by his face alone. They were like two parents who had made the mistake of allowing their squirrely child to get the extra-large slushee at the petrol station. "It's a drop shot. Jagger and Red Bull."

Blaise rolled his eyes.

"Yeah it was _so_ good. I should get another!"

"No!" Draco and Blaise blurted in unison.

"Here, have the rest of my beer," Draco offered, pushing the pint his way. "Maybe it will help dissolve the sugar."

Turning his eyes back down to the front of the club, he saw the nauseatingly flashy MC step down from the platform as the lights began to dim. Not just the stage lights either; the entire club went dark, and the only lights left that weren't at least dimmed were the ones behind the bars. But even those did little more than outline the shadows of the crowded dance floor. The club erupted in cheers. They knew what was coming. There hadn't even been an introduction but it appeared as though it wasn't needed. The MC had already spent the entire evening hyping up for the finale and apparently now, the sudden blackness was the perfect dramatic way to indicate the moment was finally upon them.

The stage was pitch black for what felt like ages. The club had grown completely silent, waiting for the performance to start in what felt like a collective holding of breaths. Draco blinked, trying to force his eyes to adjust. There was movement on stage but it was impossible to see what was going on and it wasn't until whatever it was had completely stilled again that blue and green blinking lights appeared in the very back left corner. Draco's brows knitted together as he squinted at the outlines the tiny LEDs cast. As soon as the music started playing, Draco realized it was DJ equipment and the person working behind it could be none other than Ronald Weasley.

The music started slow and lyrical with chords held from a keyboard filling in overtop. There was an eerie sound effect of rushing wind that started low and gradually ascended to a higher whistling as if getting stronger, closer.

Draco's heart skipped with excitement at the first sight of movement—but it wasn't Harry, like he had been hoping. Two tall slim figures in white body suites appeared, flanking the very edges of the stage. They were carrying odd glow sticks that gave off a dull bluish light, illuminating their painted faces and theatrical costumes. Bushels of long white feathers sprouted from the tops of their heads like fluffy Mohawks—and more still hung from their lower backs in long, graceful tails. There was one male and one female and as the male lifted his head, Draco got a good view of his profile and realized they had beaks.

Both of them moved in hunkered crouches, staying true to their bird-like personas. What Draco had mistaken for glow sticks actually turned out to be pitchers, simple plastic jugs with glow products attached to the handles. The 'birds' each carefully poured steaming liquid onto two unidentifiable buckets placed at their corresponding sides of the stage. As the liquid hit its destination, Draco immediately understood.

"Woah," he heard George whisper from beside him. "What is that?"

"Dry ice," he replied. As the figures skirted away, fog lifted from the buckets, tripping over the rims and falling to the floor like a cascading waterfall of smoke. Unlike smoke machines, the fog from dry ice was heavy and hung just over the surface of the ground in a thick, spooky mist.

As Draco watched it spread over the stage, he noticed an irregularity of the way it collected in the middle, floating around dark edges. There was definitely something smack dab in the middle of the platform but it didn't look like a person.

A light, skipping beat kicked in to the music and a familiar voice joined in with it, on flowing 'ooohs.' Draco felt a sudden tug in his gut at the sound and he straightened in rapt attention. The wind effect grew preemptively louder until everything came to an abrupt halt. The pause was no more than a half second and the moment the music started up again a blinding spot light appeared over the very middle of the stage, illuminating a chair. Tied to it, wrapped in thick chains around his centre and with strips of leather tying his wrists and ankles, was the unmistakable form of Harry Potter.

The white a-shirt he was wearing was ripped and stained, gashes lying open and revealing glimpses of his toned chest and abs. His jeans were equally tattered, the baggy slacks a patchwork of marks and tears. Draco couldn't prevent the gasp that escaped his lips when Harry's head shot up with the first words of his song, revealing a face ridden with bruises and cuts. His hair looked messier than usual, as if caked with dirt and grime. The skin circling his left eye was convincingly discoloured but the stark black makeup that traced his lash line and coated his lids accentuated his animated eyes that didn't look remotely perturbed by his bound and beaten state. His vibrant emerald eyes sparkled in mischievous glee beneath two proud, angled brows, speaking his wicked desire with so much more than words.

"_I know you want me,  
I made it obvious that I want you too.  
So put it on me,  
Let's remove the space between me and you."_

Coming out from the darkness behind him, a woman dressed in brown leather and suede slunk up to Harry's chair. She wrapped groping, sensual hands around his neck, fingers slithering down his chest. She nibbled at his neck and shoulders as he sang, reaching a hand behind her back to pull out a short stick whip. It was similar to a horse's crop. She slipped around to stand beside Harry, striking him in the chest with it with a sharp _smack._ Draco felt a powerful shiver fly up his spine and he fleetingly wondered if the sound had been real or an effect. The red mark now appearing beneath the open gashes of his shirt seemed to suggest its authenticity.

Harry smirked at the strike, licking his lips and rolling his head in a way that implied his arousal to the physicality. As he continued onto the next line of the song, the woman swung a leg over his lap, straddling him and rolling her curves above him as if flaunting what his tied hands couldn't touch. She was incredibly fit and a little on the short side, and she wore a leather bikini style top with thin straps that wrapped around her ribs and stomach, crossing a few times before tying at her back. Her pants matched the almost tribal style and had open holes down the sides, revealing the toned muscles of her legs.

"_Now rock your body,  
Damn I like the way that you move.  
So give it to me,  
Cause I already know what you wanna do."_

Harry's head lolled back as she ran suggestive fingers down up his chest and into his soot-stiff hair, which she tugged at erotically. Just as the song was changing into the bridge, a second woman appeared wearing almost identical attire to the first and together they tilted back Harry's chair so it rested only on the two back legs. With one arm each, they dragged Harry upstage and away from the spotlight.

"_Here's the situation,  
Been to every nation,  
Nobody's ever made me feel the way that you do.  
You know my motivation,  
Given my reputation,  
Please excuse I don't mean to be rude."_

The leather-girls spaced out in front of him where they crouched and picked up two large fan contraptions. Draco was having a hard time discerning what they were made of but the girls simultaneously lifted them over their heads and, in perfect time with the first beat of the chorus, cracked them together in one sharp hit, which startlingly caused them to ignite—five individual flames lighting at the end of each branch of the splayed fan.

The chorus of the song had a distinct Latin under-beat to it despite its obvious techno influence. As the girls danced—fire-fans swirling and making glowing orange and yellow pictures in their tracks—they hit every off-beat easily, their bodies anticipating the rhythm. It came as naturally as breathing. They didn't hear the music: they felt it, and it was as much a part of them as their culture, their hearts, their souls. It was instinctual. It was amazing.

All the while, there was Harry; still tied and immobile in his chair, singing lyrics that were ironically confident and assertive considering his detained condition. At this point, every eye in the club was predictably on the fire dancers and not the singer behind them—but Draco, of course, was a different story. His eyes were glued to the man exposed and defenseless in the chair. And by some inexplicable marvel, at the first line of the chorus, Harry's gaze found Draco's too, as though he'd planned it that way, as though he'd known all along exactly where he was in the dark sea of faces.

"_But tonight I'm fucking you.  
Oh you know,  
That tonight I'm fucking you.  
Oh you know,  
That tonight I'm fucking you."_

When the second verse started, the fire girls ran off stage, disappearing behind either side of the curtains. With the delicately soft _flump _of bundled fabric unfurling and falling victim to gravity, two columns of rich, flowing burgundy silk appeared from the rafters and stretched all the way down, stopping about a foot off the floor. Then, like two snowflakes heavy with rain came the bird figures from the beginning of the song, sliding smoothly down the fabric, bringing themselves to an effortless stop about halfway down.

Draco recognized the acrobatics as Aerial Silks, a form of trapeze art popular in the arty modern circus circuit. The white-clad gymnasts were doing everything in complete unison and it was rather a breath taking site. At some point while Draco and the rest of the crowd had been relatively distracted looking towards the ceiling, the dry ice had been refilled and fresh, thick fog was replacing the previous dissipating smoke.

Silver eyes kept darting back to Harry as he sang but even Draco found himself enthralled with the movements of the man and woman suspended in the air. Their motions were so fluid, as natant and liquid as the fabric they climbed on; their limbs contorting in ways that suggested they were both feather light. But Draco knew how strong a person had to be to accomplish stunts like theirs. The verse was fittingly less electronic, focusing more on the heavy thump of the modernized Latino beat.

"_You're so damn pretty,  
if I had a type then baby it'd be you.  
I know you're ready,  
if I never lied, than baby you'd be the truth._

Here's the situation,  
Been to every nation,  
Nobody's ever made me feel the way that you do.  
You know my motivation,  
Given my reputation,  
Please excuse I don't mean to be rude."

The aerial artists performed through the bridge and drifted to the ground by the time the chorus started again, darting off and disappearing. Again, at the first steady pump of the energized chorus, three dancers came flipping out onto the stage underneath panels of black lights that had just been cued on. Quite literally flipping: they made their entrance with a series of gasp-worthy handsprings and back flips, the audience applauding and cheering respectively. Draco would have guessed that the dancers were men but it was difficult to tell—the stage was dark enough that the only thing that could be seen clearly was whatever white portions that accented their otherwise all black outfits. Two of the men wore black clothing with white psychedelic designs and white shoes. The third, who made the point of their triangle formation, wore nothing that was visible under the black light save for gloved hands and white trainers. The effect was entertaining and clever. Their quick paced hip hop dance was impressive and had the crowd cheering and jumping down on the dance floor.

"_But tonight I'm fucking you.  
Oh you know,  
That tonight I'm fucking you.  
Oh you know,  
That tonight I'm fucking you."_

Focus was drawn back to Harry, who was still strapped to the chair at the back of the stage when both the girls in leather reappeared and latched onto the bound brunet, fingers like claws in his skin, tongues tracing lines where Draco had quite recently been himself. There was an objective to their ministrations, however, because they were slowly freeing Harry from his chains and untying the leather fastenings with their teeth.

The look in Harry's eyes was commanding and lustful and as his wrists came free, he smirked, green eyes boring into Draco's again like he could read the blond's mind, like he knew exactly what dirty things Draco was imagining doing to him with those chains, those ripped denims and bits of leather cast-offs.

With an abrupt jolt, he was standing and he tore his gaze away from Draco's as he spun, kicking the chair away with a shove of the ball of his foot. The black light dancers filtered away and lingered by the chair in various levels in a sort of glowing picture, their illuminated hands and heads pulsing with the beat. And then Harry had seamlessly sunken into it—the drastically sharp movements, the low crouches and quick jumps. The contrasting angles of his limbs and body were so swift that it was hard for Draco's mind to keep up. There were still leather straps wrapping Harry's forearms and wrists and his grungy shirt swished, billowing out from his taught little body with each brisk step.

It was a rap break in the song: the music had dropped out leaving mostly just the drumming beat that punctuated Harry's movements. There was a man on the side of the stage with a hand held mic, rapping lyrics in rhythm but Draco could care less. If he'd been asked what the man looked like, Draco wouldn't have a bloody clue. He was spellbound by Harry's technique and much like the fire dancers, the routine seemed to come so natural to him, like the music was speaking through his body, speaking its own language and Harry was just there to translate it.

___"Tonight I'm gonna do,  
Everythin' that I want with you._ _  
Everythin' that u need,  
Everythin' that u want, _

_I wanna honey, wanna stunt with you._

_From the window, to the wall,  
Gonna give u, my all.  
Winter or the summertime,  
When I get you on the springs,  
Imma make you fall."_

On the last note Harry turned sideways and leaned back, releasing his entire body in a feint fall— teetering dangerously close to falling over before one of the black light men was there, providing his carefully choreographed white hand as a spring board for Harry's back. The musician lurched forward again and fell into his next set of heart-thrilling moves, the other dancers leaving him to his routine once again.

Draco drooled. He wanted to memorize this, record it in his brain so he could watch it time and time again, over and over until he knew every possible angle. He wanted to know intimately every twitch of Harry's muscles, every flicker of light reflecting off his shiny, slicked skin, every swivel of him from ankle and knee to toned, twisting neck, every step of his patterned footwork mapping the floor in a knowing, intricate pattern. Draco wanted to know it all because it was a significant piece of this staggering brunet who never ceased to be surprising, to be exceptional in every way. His talent in dance was just one more reason Draco wanted to bugger him until he was nothing but a raw, sated, whimpering mess; as a way of claiming the boy, proving that this incredible creature was his and his only. But Draco swore his need to ensnare the man stemmed from Harry's undeniable fire—the fact that he would put up a good fight, stubborn and resilient made him all the more desirable.

_"You got that body,  
That make me wanna get on the boat,  
Just to see you dance.  
And I love the way you shake that ass,  
Turn around and let me see them pants.  
You stuck with me,  
I'm stuck with you,  
Lets find something to do.  
Please excuse me,  
I don't mean to be rude."_

Harry's body was a work of art, really. If there was a God out there, he was surely patting himself on the back for doing such a damn good job. Sure, Potter deserved some of the credit; Draco was confident Harry would argue that he'd worked to get his body to the near-perfection that it was, that he'd earned it through years of dedicated exercise and training. But there were some people that were just naturally fucking beautiful. Harry was one of those people. Draco had a feeling that even if the musician lost ten pounds of muscle, he'd still turn heads every God damned place he went. He had a certain aura about him, an effervescent charm and captivating appearance that was like a gravitational pull. People just wanted to know him, be him… fuck him.

Jesus fucking Christ, when was this song going to end so Draco could be pounding that boy into his mattress instead of up here, watching him sweat on a stage completely out of reach, away from his touch and his smell and his kiss….

"_But tonight I'm fucking you.  
Oh you know,  
That tonight I'm fucking you.  
Oh you know,  
That tonight I'm fucking you."_

The three black light dancers formed behind Harry to join him in his dance for the last chorus of the song. The movements were simplified—but only slightly so—to accommodate for the fact that Harry was singing again, and then the song was ending the same way it had begun. The quick beats dropped out and the music segued into a more lyrical sound with a slow drumming base. The wind sound was flowing back in now and with it came the two leather-clad girls from the beginning of the show. Harry slowed and almost stumbled to the front of the stage, staring up at Draco with a triumphant look gracing his fictitiously marked features. One of the girls came up behind him and brought his arms behind his back, using the leather still around his wrists as means of binding them together. Harry's eyes fluttered shut, taking heavy breaths between his full, delectable lips as she dragged her mouth up the side of his neck, teasing his ear and jaw as she did so. When she stepped away, she met with her partner who carried the chains that had previously imprisoned Harry in his chair. Each of them taking an end, they circled around him, restraining him once more. All the while, Harry's cocky smirk remained plastered to his face but his head was drooping forwards weakly, almost as if he'd been drugged. He dropped to his knees with a loud and painful sounding thud as the girls tugged the chains tightly around his chest and arms.

"_But tonight I'm fucking you…"_

He gave a weak chuckle then—a yielding puff of his chest, as if his shackles amused him, as if he looked forward to the torture that was allegedly coming to him.

And then all was black again. The club was sucked into silence and in the darkness there was a moment of stillness where the audience waited in a hypnotized daze before violating the hush with a roar so deafening it could have easily been heard across two city blocks.

As the multi-colored lights of the dance floor slowly began to fade back in, Draco became aware that his friends were talking around him. If they were directing any thoughts at him, he wasn't listening. He just stared at the spot where Harry had just been, blinking against the altered lighting to try to see onto the dark stage. Eyes adjusting, he was disappointed to find that Harry was already gone and stage hands were once again filtering in and out, clearing away the equipment and props.

Draco had lost all ability to move, to function. He stared blankly forward, unseeing, feeling as though he wasn't quite sure what had just happened. Had he died? Was he dreaming? He could hear voices calling him back to earth, back to a place where his mind wasn't useless mush and he wasn't about to cream his pants without so much as touching his dick. But he didn't know how to get back and felt very little motivation to actually try. That is—until he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

He snatched it as fast as his confounded state would let him, anticipating the message like a child does Christmas, like a desert does rain, like a hooker does pay…

It was one word; just one, single word, but it had him leaping out of his chair the moment he read it.

_From: Potter, H_

_–Upstairs._

_Sent: 12:01 AM_


	12. Chapter 12

****sordid_humor has taken a long journey with me as a fantastic beta! More than halfway through now! Whoot! Love ya, T!****

**Chapter 12**

When Draco arrived at the top of the steps, the door into the suite was ajar. He could hear voices and see the shadows of movement inside. Tentatively leaning past the door, he glanced around at the empty hallway. There were bits of white feathers on the hardwood and Draco caught a glimpse of one of the leather clad women walking across the living room and out of sight.

"Potter?" he called, not thrilled at the idea of wandering aimlessly while there were circus freaks running amok.

"In here," came Harry's reply from the first door on the right.

Draco was relieved to find Harry alone in the bedroom, head bent and busying himself with the knotted leather around his forearms. He was on the man in seconds, latching on to his tattered clothing and warm body, positively devouring his hot, sweet mouth.

Harry stumbled back at the assault with a grunt, and Draco continued to force him backwards until they came crashing down together on the dark blue comforter of the bed. The blond moaned as his weight landed on Harry's deliciously firm, sexy frame. It was a deep, urgent sound, loud and carnal and needy. Harry hummed against his lips, eagerly returning Draco's desperate kiss.

"Fuck, Potter… you little… twat," Draco mumbled between kisses.

Harry chuckled as Draco left his lips, biting viciously at his neck. He hissed in startled pain. The blond certainly wasn't holding back. "Why am I a twat?"

"That was. So. Fucking. Hot," Draco rasped out, palming the crotch of Harry's denims with a sure squeeze.

Draco was caught by surprise when Harry vaulted his weight forward and flipped him onto his back. He landed on the mattress with an _oomf,_ the fiery brunet hovering above him on his hands and knees. Harry held Draco to the bed with solid hands on his shoulders, his knees pressing against Draco's hips, pinning him there.

Harry brought his face down to no more than three inches away from Draco's, a lopsided and boastful grin adorning the sides of his mouth. Draco's heart pounded, disliking the distance between them as minute as it was. He panted heavily through his arousal. He wanted to be kissing Harry, fucking him fast and sure but the musician was torturing him with this sluggish, teasing pace, making him wait for it, beg for it.

Finally, Harry leaned in and planted a scorching hard kiss on Draco's mouth. The lip-lock was slow and Harry was deliberately keeping it that way in spite of Draco's evident desire for more—perhaps because of it. Harry's mouth against his was powerful; demanding control and dominating Draco with only his lips—his amazing, delectable lips.

Draco bit his tongue to keep from groaning in displeasure when Harry pulled away. With hot breath skirting across pale cheek bones, Harry leaned to whisper in Draco's ear. "You're not so bad yourself, Malfoy," he muttered.

A great shudder overwhelmed Draco's body and this time he really did groan in complaint when Harry lifted away from him, hopping off the bed.

"We're not exactly alone here," he said, pulling his ragged shirt over his head. "And I've got to take a shower and get this muck out of my hair." He bent down to one of the mirrors on the dresser to study his face. "Not to mention get this shit off my face," he added, rubbing at the black smudges around his eyes.

A grey gaze ogled Harry through dilated pupils. For a man who was postponing sex, he was cruel for undressing in front of Draco without a second thought.

"Then get to it, Potter," Draco sneered, brandishing a hand at him. "I don't have all night."

Harry cocked an eyebrow at him. "You better hope you have all night, blondie."

Harry disappeared into the bathroom. Draco waited until he was gone before covering his face with his hands. Bloody-buggering-sodding-Christ! He was swiftly and pathetically spiralling out of control.

~.~.~

As Harry scrubbed the thick wax out of his hair, massaging his scalp with his fingertips in blessed relief, his mind wandered to the gorgeous blond that had attacked him in the other room. Harry was punishing himself for even thinking it but… if he was going to be honest with himself, Draco was fucking amazing. He was this fierce, icy bundle of pure sex, jocose, sharp-witted and attentive. And Harry was beginning to run out of ways to keep him at arm's length.

Recently, absolutely everything reminded him of Draco. He couldn't go more than five minutes without thinking about his incandescent skin, his slight, wiry frame and smooth stomach. He was inundated with the image of that angular jaw, that absolutely exquisite mouth. Oh, Gods, that mouth. Harry couldn't remember loving a mouth more. Draco lips were like ripe plums, supple and oh-so-sweet—he could kiss them forever.

And Draco was trying—he was trying so hard to figure Harry out and Harry was beginning to wonder if maybe it really was genuine. He didn't know what it was, but something about what had happened last night in the back alley, something about the way Draco had softened to a puddle of mush, kissing Harry's hip and sliding on his pants, had triggered something in his gut, something wanton and intense. Overnight it had spread, infesting his head and his body, invading his mind—vivid, sensual dreams leaving him sticky with sweat and painfully hard when he woke—until all he could think about was filling Draco's beautifully tight ass, plunging into him with hot, deep strokes.

He moaned as the thought made his chest flutter and his cock twitch. He decided to try to speed up the showering process.

~.~.~

Ripping off Draco's jacket, Harry threw it hastily to the floor, his hands flying back to the blond's chest, yearning for the warmth of his silky skin beneath his fingertips. He slipped his hands under Draco's t-shirt with a groan and, taking the hint, Draco reached down and tugged at its hem, breaking away from Harry's mouth just long enough to tear the shirt over his head.

Harry's calloused hands were all over Draco's body, roaming in need and heavy desire. He blindly guided the blond in the direction of his bedroom, the door slamming against the adjacent wall at their forceful entry. Harry was determined to reduce Draco to nothing but lewd cries, determined to claim him in a way Harry rarely claimed anybody. He didn't fuck randoms. When he picked up guys at the bar or after a show, he expected to be thoroughly ravished—demanded it, really. It was his way of forgetting his pain but remembering to live, remaining numb and yet feeling something, feeling _anything._

But with Draco….

He refused to finish the thought. He _couldn't_ finish that thought—not yet, not now. Harry wanted to fuck the man, it didn't rightly matter why. And Harry got what he wanted.

"Fuck—Malfoy…" Harry husked against Draco's lips, barely able to get the words out through his arousal. He felt like he was absolutely pulsating with need, adrenaline rushing through him in intense waves. His palms pressed into the curve of Draco's bare back, urging their hips together. The man's skin was warm and Harry relished the feeling of the muscles shifting beneath it as Draco's arms wrapped around him firmly. They'd reached the edge of the bed and Harry slowly bent the blond backwards, forcing him onto his back and climbing on top of him. Draco grabbed at the boy's hips, pressing his pelvis into Harry's growing erection.

Harry moaned. Loudly. "Unngg… fuck! Wanna fuck you, Draco."

Draco was enjoying the weight of the smaller boy pressing him into the mattress as his hands freely roamed Harry's body. Despite his arousal, he almost chuckled at the statement but it came out more as an incredulous snort.

"Shut it, Potter," he mumbled, clutching at the ass of Harry's denims and sucking on his neck. "Yer the only one who's getting buggered tonight."

"You think I'm kidding?"

The serious tone of Harry's rasping voice gave Draco pause. He removed himself from the boy's neck and met his determined gaze.

Bloody hell. Potter was serious.

Draco rarely bottomed. He preferred to be in control, to render his lovers to writhing, whimpering pools who grovelled at his feet and trembled at the sight of his cock. But at the moment, the thought of Harry inside of him, the thought of that thick cock filling him was quite frankly the hottest bloody thing he'd considered all night. He hated to admit it because with Harry being the defiant fireball that he was, Draco found himself ceaselessly aching to dominate him, pulverize him until he wept with pleasure. But the truth was that even when Draco _was_ pounding into Harry, making him moan and whine and cry out, he still wasn't in control—not really. He liked to pretend that he was but a rather irritating voice inside his head reminded him otherwise. When it came to this thing between them, Harry was always the one in control. He called the shots and it had been like that since day one. Anything Draco did was on Harry's word, Harry's simple nod of approval.

Harry's lips were on his neck and chest again and Draco was struggling to focus. "And what makes you think I'm going to give you the honour, Potter?" he rasped out. "I don't consider myself a bottom. Or haven't you noticed?" He tried to sound confident, cocky even, but his voice quivered much like his humming nerves.

He bit his lip and arched into Harry's amazingly hot touch as the man's hand slid down his stomach, fingers easing under his waistband and opening his fly with an effortless flick. Draco let out a short groan when Harry's hand grazed his cock through the thin cotton of his pants.

"The fact that yer a sucker when my hand's on yer prick," Harry breathed in a hoarse reply. "Among other things."

And he was right. When Harry slipped his hand into Draco's pants, gripping his erection and skimming a thumb over the smooth, slicked skin of his head, Draco threw his head back into the feathery pillows, positively surging with lust. Harry's hand on his cock felt better than it should; he growled, a low rumble in his chest as he clutched at the back of Harry's t-shirt, the fabric straining beneath his greedy fists.

He sucked in a deep, trembling breath through his nose as Harry kissed him again, plunging his tongue deeper into the blond's mouth. Harry smelled like soap and vanilla conditioner. His hair was still damp and from time to time Draco would feel a droplet of water fall onto his face or neck.

Harry's words rang in his ears. _Wanna fuck you, Draco._ The sound of the man's voice, low and deliberate, his name spilling from his chest: it was all kinds of erotic. It was as though he'd become hypersensitive—Harry was touching him and it felt like nirvana. He could feel the goose bumps forming and as Harry kissed him, hard and passionate and full, Draco knew that he wouldn't be saying no. He was completely at the mercy of Harry's warm, tender hands and heaving body.

Harry carefully pulled out of the kiss, letting his lips linger lightly against Draco's, eyes dancing with desire. "Turn over," he ordered in a deep whisper, a sound that though quiet, came out in a clear and resonant bass.

Feeling oddly nervous, Draco followed Harry's instruction as the musician reached for the nightstand drawer and retrieved a bottle of lube and a string of condoms.

"Just how many times do you think you're fucking me, Wonder Boy?" Draco simpered, hoping the joke would help to soothe his nerves, relocate his confidence. It didn't.

Harry's only reply was a soft chuckle as he tore one of the condoms off the strand, leaving it on the bed and tossing the rest aside. Draco cushioned his head in his arms, stretching out on his stomach. He sighed when he felt Harry straddle his hips, sitting back onto the delicate curve of his backside.

Harry pulled off his t-shirt, gazing at the creamy flesh of Draco's back, all angular and sharp, narrowing into a perfect slender waist. He skated his palms down the expanse of Draco's skin, starting from his shoulders all the way down to where the valley of his back began to crest upwards. Instead of rushing to rid Draco of his denims, Harry leaned forward, enjoying the heat when their bare skin met and dropping gentle, open-mouthed kisses just below the soft, blond hairline of that pale and sloping neck. He drew a slow path down between two gorgeous shoulder blades, easing down that spine and feeling Draco shiver beneath his lips.

The blond smelled fresh and light, as he always did: faintly like citrus or that refreshing hint of sunscreen on the beach. There were tiny, fine hairs that grazed his lower back; a collection of white-blond fuzz that wasn't at all noticeable until you were right up close. Harry slowly clutched the waistband of Draco's already loosened trousers and tugged them down with his shorts, revealing his flawless pastel cheeks. Harry kissed them both once before dragging the jeans down Draco's legs and tossing them to the floor.

He couldn't help but take Draco's adorably pert butt in a light, almost massaging grip before returning his lips to the smooth skin in hot, tender kisses. Harry carefully urged Draco's legs apart, lowering himself between them, his tongue taking its first quick swipe at the crack of the blond's ass.

Draco moaned when he felt the wet warmth of Harry's tongue between his cheeks. It had come sooner than he'd anticipated and the sensation made him tremble. He felt painfully exposed with Harry's face in such a private place—he couldn't remember the last time someone had been intimate with him in this particular manner. Harry's hot breath on his thighs was exhilarating but the temptation to close his legs and conceal himself was also a force to be reckoned with. His legs twitched together slightly; Draco wasn't used to feeling this vulnerable, this displayed, but Harry wasn't having any of it. He pushed at Draco's inner thighs, forcing them to part.

"Spread yer legs," he whispered. "I promise it'll be worth it."

Draco tried not to think about the details of where Harry was at the moment and stretched his legs outwards as the brunet clutched at his ass cheeks, drawing them apart as well. When hotness closed over his hole and Harry's tongue licked, spreading saliva between his cheeks, Draco bit down on his lip, his hands flying out to splay on the bed, clutching the sheets in anxious fists.

He was already panting by the time Harry drove the tip of his tongue into his tight space, easing him open with that wet, pliable muscle. As the brunet pushed in deeper, Draco actually let out a loud whine.

"_Fuck!" _Draco gasped. Holy buggering fuck, it felt good. Harry's tongue was shoving in and out of his hole, teasing the muscles inside his channel and making him thirst for more. The heat and wetness was amazing and Draco gave up trying to control his cries of pleasure. He grasped at the sheets like his life depended on it, his knuckles turning white with tension. He could feel his damp fringe sticking to his forehead; he was already beginning to sweat.

Draco's whimpering was gratifying and as Harry continued to pummel the man's ass with his tongue, he felt Draco begin to squirm and twitch, pushing towards his face, all but pleading for more. Harry gave him as much as he possibly could, his nose pressing almost painfully into the base of Draco's tailbone, hoping to brush at his prostate.

Draco was panting in high, wheezing breaths, thrashing in ecstasy. "Shit…bloody—unngg… fuck, Potter! Just do it already!

Harry removed his tongue to reply. "Wow, for a man who doesn't bottom, that's quite the change of heart, Malfoy," he murmured back, still lapping teasing strokes over the man's entrance.

Draco's long fingers entangled in his own dishevelled locks as he hissed out a sharp exhale of breath. "Yes, well… that was before you had your tongue in my arse. Now you're gonna fuck me 'till I'm raw—that a problem?"

A rapturous fire ignited in Harry's chest. He scrambled back up to his knees and yanked at the blond's ribcage, flipping him over with a remarkably strong heave and capturing the man's swollen lips in his own. Draco's hands flew to Harry's belt, fumbling with the clasp as he tried to lower his pants as quickly as possible, tired of being the only one stark naked.

Draco pushed Harry's pants down as far as he could, consumed with a violent need, until Harry took over, kicking out of them and tossing both his pants and trousers across the room. Draco watched in anticipation as Harry snatched the bottle of lube and coated three fingers with the sticky liquid. Harry's tongue wouldn't have been enough of a prep considering how rarely Draco did this so he was grateful when the first two fingers slid in easily.

He watched Harry's dark head dip down, taking the blond's hefty erection into his hot mouth. Draco's eyes very well could have rolled into the back of his head as the smaller man simultaneously sucked him off and finger-fucked his ass. His slender back lifted in a desperate arc, victim to the mind-numbing stimulation, victim to Harry-Fucking-Potter. He was beginning to think it was the best thing he'd felt in a long time. He stood corrected when Harry's fingers found a new angle, striking a marvellously sensitive spot, making Draco's body give a violent lurch.

_That_ was the best thing he'd felt in a long time.

With the sound of the blond's surprised and pleasured gasp, Harry pressed in a third finger and Draco breathed into the stretching feeling, a very faint line creasing his perspiring brow.

"F-fuck," he rasped out. Apparently, being on the receiving end of penetration made him even more foul mouthed. His hunger for Potter was too much—his desire for the boy so strong it was physically painful. Or was that Harry's digits in his arse? He could feel his skin burning up, hear his heart pounding in his chest, smell his own sweat mixing with Harry's. Draco latched onto the sheets again, trying to ground himself, to find his centre in this world the brunet had thrown him into, where he was helpless, drowning in his own needy cries. "Harry, please…."

He wanted the man inside of him, wanted him pounding fast and hard until they both came, exhausted and trembling.

Harry paused, letting Draco's cock slip from his mouth with a loud slurp. "Please what?" he breathed, watching the blond's face as he intermittently dropped hot opened-mouth kisses onto his lower stomach, which was flushed and warm, rising and falling with each heavy breath.

Draco twisted his fingers into Harry's thick raven hair. "Please, Harry..." he repeated, barely audible. He trailed off, too consumed with nerves and lust to string words together.

Enticed by the way the blond whispered his given name is needy pleas, Harry kissed his way up the desert plains of Draco's flat belly, touching every inch of his creamy skin. "You want me to fuck you, Draco?" he muttered.

Draco simply nodded frantically, his eyes pinched shut in a tight frown. Harry's heart warmed. The man whimpering beneath him was so beautiful, so staggering. He caressed the soft skin of Draco's trim waist, brushing his sides tenderly. He was bursting to tell him how stunning he was, how incredible he looked splayed and vulnerable on his bed. But he couldn't. He didn't know how to find the words and even if he had, he wasn't sure he was ready to say them.

Instead, he took advantage of Draco's exposed neck, that long and beautiful column of porcelain, licking at the sensitive skin and trailing up to his soft earlobe, listening to him sigh as electrifying shivers consumed him.

"Open your eyes," Harry murmured.

Fluttery ashen lashes parted and the blond was looking up at Harry through swirling grey eyes, dark with arousal. Harry stroked Draco's cheek bone with the backs of his fingers, before dipping in for another impassioned kiss.

Draco struggled for air when he met Harry's eyes. The expression there was breath-taking and earnest. The sentiment was too much and Draco's throat burned at the overload of emotion pulsing through him. Harry sat up, sliding the condom over his intimidating girth and slicking it with more of the cold lube.

Harry carefully guided Draco's bent knees apart and leaned over him, hands resting on the mattress at either side of his head. The smaller man braced himself at Draco's waiting entrance and when he very carefully began to push in, Draco bit his lip, whimpering quietly at the intrusion, more out of nerves than actual pain. But Harry was patient and careful and was sure to wait until he felt Draco relax before sliding the rest of the way in.

Draco grunted as Harry filled him to the brim—and that's exactly what it felt like: incredibly full. It stung a bit, too; it had been a _long _time since he'd done this. But the tense feeling wasn't entirely unpleasant and Draco's hands shot to Harry's shoulders, needing to touch him. His nails dug into that golden skin with more force than he'd intended—he tried to focus on finding some regularity in his breathing and relaxing the muscles that squeezed angrily around Harry's cock.

"Sorry," he muttered through clenched teeth, blushing, his patented self-control washed away in a flood of buggery and pain and all-consuming lust. "Can't say I do this very often."

Harry grinned softly. "Don't worry," he breathed. "You alright?"

Draco nodded. "Let's do this, Potter." He wrapped a hand around the back of the brunet's neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

Harry took the order and complied. Focusing on the softness of Draco's mouth against his, he pulled back slowly, though not all the way. A few short thrusts had his face contorting in pleasure. It wasn't just Draco who didn't do this very often—the blond felt amazingly hot and tight around him and he broke away from his lips with a groan.

"Shit... Draco... so... tight…" Harry bit out between thrusts, his pelvis rolling as he pushed into Draco with a steady, sensual rhythm.

Draco was grunting with every forward stroke and replied only in incoherent sounds.

But the thoughts in his head were going a mile minute, screaming. Draco didn't give himself to just anyone. He was the taker—the one who took pretty boys home and pounded them until they forgot their own names. But with Potter—with Harry—he'd never wanted anything more and it wasn't until the brunet was pulsing into his body that he realized the full weight of that statement. As Draco's grunts morphed into more pleasured breathy whines, Harry picked up speed, thrusting more powerfully, always maintaining as much closeness as possible, his face buried in the crook of Draco's neck or suckling purplish marks into his angular collar bone. Harry plunged deeper with every stroke, yet Draco wanted to find ways to be even closer to him—clinging to his back, grabbing his hair, clutching his thighs. He felt like Harry was giving everything he had but Draco still wanted more. He searched for the man's lips, grabbing at his messy raven hair and holding him to his mouth in a kiss that revealed more of himself than words ever could. He felt like he was pouring his soul into Harry's hot, eager mouth, handing it over willingly for no reason other than his sheer want of something to offer the man, something as intimate and amazing as what Harry was giving him. With his eyes shut tight, the blond suddenly became horrifically aware of the very subtle dampness collecting at his lash line.

It was at that moment, when Harry shoved against his prostate for the hundredth time, that Draco realized just what he'd gotten himself into. He wasn't just interested in Potter. He didn't just want to date him, take him out for dinner and fuck him day and night.

Draco was stupidly and irrefutably in love with him. With Harry.

_This_ Harry—hovering inches above him, eyes shut tight and thrusting in unfettered bursts; so careful, reverent, giving everything he had to make it last. It was so clear. Draco could close his eyes and see that tanned throat, straining tendons and rivulets of sweat. He knew those eyes, the curve of his temple, the fall of his hair over his silken brow. He wanted to memorize every second of this because it was so new; the sweet and blissful expression of Harry's face, mouth hanging open as he gasped again and again. Draco sucked at each and every breath, inhaling the intimacy radiating from Harry's skin.

Dear God, he was stupid. So stupid.

Comprehension dawned just as Harry cried his name, his body seizing in ecstasy with the force of his powerful orgasm. First, Draco's brain exploded at the sound of Harry's loud, guttural _"Draco!" _and then so did the rest of him, his climax being ripped from him like stitching from the shoulder of a cheap suit. He screamed out as his own cum splattered onto his chest, adding to the slickness between his and Harry's skin. He felt like the life had been drained from his body in the form of hot seed, fervent cries, passionate kisses, anxious sweat….

Draco fought the urge to get up and run. To leave Harry, still trembling in his orgasm's after effects, and never come back. But he knew even if he did run, he'd be crawling back sooner or later. He'd tried to run once already and that hadn't gone at all like he'd planned.

He rubbed a hand up Harry's back as the man tried to catch his breath, letting the tips of his fingers trace soft circles into his radiating skin. He winced, trying not to think about just how hard he'd fallen and how impossible it would be to scramble out now.

Blaise was going to _shit bricks_ when he found out.

Halfway to unconsciousness, Draco only partially felt Harry pull out and lie down beside him, an arm draped over him possessively. His mind raced but his body was physically and emotionally exhausted. He wanted to say something but he was at a loss as to what. Words felt hollow and meaningless compared to what was rattling around inside his head.

Harry's heavy breathing softened and the man dragged lethargic kisses along Draco's lightly freckled shoulder. His arm was heavy on Draco's chest and the weight and warmth of it was nice, soothing.

"Harry?" Draco's voice was a whisper and he wasn't sure if that stemmed from his fatigue, his screaming or his nerves.

"Mmm?" the boy hummed against him, drifting dangerously close to slumber.

"Does this mean you accept my offer?"

He swore Harry stopped breathing. There was suddenly a stillness in the air, his question hanging in the midst like a colossal neon sign; blinking, obnoxious and awkward.

"I…"

The hesitance in Harry's tone was a blow in and of itself. Draco felt like a bloody girl for it but he couldn't deny that tonight had been substantially different from their times together in the past; it hadn't felt like a horny, meaningless fuck. Mind you, sex with Harry had stopped feeling meaningless ages ago—in fact, Draco wasn't even sure it ever _had_ been meaningless, at least not to him—but tonight had been intimate, passionate… tender?

"Draco, I don't know," Harry sighed finally. "I just—I can't. It's complicated."

"…complicated…" Draco repeated flatly, staring up at the ceiling. He was beginning to loath that word. 'It's complicated' wasn't a bloody answer nor was it a viable excuse. Everything was complicated. _Life _was complicated. It was more or less universally understood that nothing was ever simple... at least nothing worthwhile.

Harry rubbed his face in his hands, staying hidden behind them for quite some time, just inhaling in slow, metered breaths. When he finally spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically quiet, timid almost.

"I'm not… the person I used to be. I just…." Harry was scrambling for words. It wasn't like him. The brunet was usually so quick to say exactly what he was thinking, always had a smart-ass answer for everything. His stuttering only made Draco's nerves tighten. "I'm damaged goods, Draco. You're better off, trust me."

Draco actually pulled a face, rolling his eyes. "Sodding hell! And I thought _I _was the one being a bloody pussy. Man up, Potter. Life's a bitch. Deal with it and move on."

Silence.

Draco was irritated. He wasn't about to let Harry get away with acting like a spineless, self-pitying little twink; he was better than that. Maybe the going had been tough for him for a while—everyone got tired sometimes, felt discouraged. But Draco knew better than to believe that the man lying beside him didn't have it in him to fight back with a strident 'fuck you'. He was bold, a brash son-of-a-bitch and that was exactly why Draco liked him. Loved him. He had to get used to that, even in his head.

Harry's soft, rolling laughter was what finally broke the hush that had fallen between them. Draco peered over at him. Harry's eyes were closed, hands resting notched in his hair, as if frozen there. His chuckle brought lightness to his tanned face, his chest bouncing with mirth.

"What?" Draco almost spat. "Why are you laughing?"

Harry opened his eyes and looked at him, green eyes filled with a sort of contented amusement. He propped himself up on an elbow, leaning over Draco and holding his gaze. "You are possibly the only person in my life who has ever had the guts to say that to me."

"So you're saying I have my oversized foot in my oversized mouth."

"Not at all," Harry grinned. "You say it like it is. I can appreciate that—mostly because I'm usually the same way."

Draco snorted. "You mean you're a blunt little bastard."

"I like to think of it as forthright."

Draco ran his fingers over the growing bruises at his bitten-up collar bone, his skin so tender after being under Harry's brutal lips and teeth. He never got quite what he was expecting from that pretty mouth. "You ever consider just being forthright with me for a change?"

Harry sighed, eyes cast down to Draco's chest, sticky hand rubbing lazy patterns into his skin. "I'll work on that," he finally said. Catching his eyes again, Harry pressed a light kiss to Draco's mouth. "Get some sleep, yeah?"

He nestled back down into the comforter, keeping one arm over Draco. The blond was left wondering if Harry had actually taken in some of his words along with appreciating them. But with the consistent rhythm of Harry's breathing against his body, his mind slowly cleared and exhaustion overtook him as he fell into a troubled sleep.

~.~.~

Draco woke to the sound of someone moving around in his bedroom. No… no, that wasn't what woke him. It was this curious, throbbing pain in his—Oh, fuck.

Everything came rushing back to him, the dam of his groggy sleep and dreams collapsing under the flood of memory, reality. He opened his eyes, knowing he would not see his bedroom but Harry's, and that the boy would now be trying to make his escape.

"You really should get better at sneaking out if you plan on doing it this often," Draco mumbled into his pillow, sardonic at his own stupidity and general situation of being completely fucked—literally and figuratively.

Harry, who was throwing on a zip-up, glanced over his shoulder and grinned at him. The man's blond hair was tousled and sticking up and Harry couldn't help but smirk at the knowledge that, had Draco known, he'd be flipping out and trying frantically to slam it back down into place.

"Relax, gorgeous. I'm coming back, I promise. I was trying not to wake you. I have to run over to the Burrow, talk to Ron about something."

Had Harry just called him gorgeous? Had he just smiled sweetly at him, despite the fact it was the morning after? Was nonchalant Potter just running behind schedule today? It was a remarkable shock to think that Potter even _had_ a schedule. All of these questions nagged at him, pulling his tongue in a hundred different directions at once; rather than voice a single one and make an even greater fool of himself, Draco stuck to a topic that was a little less mawkish.

"What the fuck is the Burrow?" Draco felt his brows draw together. "And _why_ in heaven's name, Potter, do you insist on making early morning band meetings with your mates the morning after your shows? You'd think after all the sex you've had, you'd factor in the likelihood of getting lucky."

Harry chuckled. "It's not that early. And sorry, the Burrow is Ron's parent's place—they named it, although I was never really certain why. They live just outside the city and he stayed there last night. Something to do with a family emergency," he shrugged. "I don't know, I think—"

Draco groaned in his sleep deprived state. "Where exactly in that sentence did you hear me ask for Red's life story, Potter?"

Harry grinned and shuffled over to the bed where Draco was lying on his stomach, face half buried in the pillow. Touching a finger to Draco's chin to get him to look up, Harry pressed a simple kiss to his lips. "Don't go anywhere, yeah? I'll be back in about an hour. Get some sleep."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "You want me to stay here?"

The brunet was already at the door, a hand resting on the frame. He shrugged. "Why not? You have somewhere to be?"

Draco was silent. He didn't like that this was not what he'd been anticipating. He was prepared for Harry to politely ask him to leave so he could carry on with his day. That's not to say he didn't _like_ what he was hearing... but he almost didn't know if he should believe it.

Harry took his silence as an answer and smirked. "I'll see you in a bit, then."

As Draco watched him go, pretending to scowl, his thoughts flitted to the events of the previous night. He remembered all too clearly the sound of Harry's moans, the emotion that had tickled Draco's throat and dampened his lashes….

He crawled out of bed, stiff and still a little uncomfortable from last night. He riffled through the pile of clothes until he found his trousers, retrieving his phone from the pocket.

Flipping it open, he quickly fired off one message to two recipients.

To: Zabini, B ; Haywood, George

I'm cashing in on all favors owed to me. This morning. Now, to be precise.

Sent: 9:38 AM

~.~.~

"Harry, are you sure this is a good idea?" Ron muttered on the stoop outside Harry's flat as he entered his security code. Ron carried his snare and high hat cymbals while Harry lugged the big bass drum against his hip. The brunet pushed the door open with his foot, hitching up the drum that was so large he could probably hide inside it if he tried. "I mean, _Malfoy_-"

"We need somewhere to put this equipment, right?" Harry asked with a huff as he hauled the heavy drum through the front door. Misjudging the space, he smacked into the frame with a deep, resonating thud.

Ron flinched. "Shhh! No, mate. Your flat is great, honest. Thanks for offering. I meant the part where I'm here when Malfoy is still… er, presumably naked in your bedroom."

They usually stored their spare instruments and recording equipment in Ron's old room at the Burrow, but the "urgent family announcement" had been that his sister Ginny and her fiancé, Oliver, who both currently lived in the States, were coming back to London for their wedding a few weeks ahead of schedule and would be needing a place to stay. Naturally Molly offered up her home, so she'd asked Ron and Harry to move their crap for the time being.

"Relax, Ron. Draco should be up by now, anyway. And I'm sure it'll be fine. I'll even make sure he's clothed for you," Harry teased, waggling his eyebrows at his best mate.

"Gee, thanks," Ron replied, rolling his eyes.

Harry put down the drum kit, pushing back his fringe and wiping the sheen of sweat from his brow. "Now it's just a matter of where to put— " His last words fell from his head when he turned the corner out of the entrance way, flicking on the light.

"Bloody hell…."

"What?" Ron asked, peering around the corner after Harry. "Oh. Bleedin'… bleedin' _hell_. Harry, what is this?"

But Harry didn't answer. He was too busy gazing around the apartment in awe. Every inch of every surface, every wall and chair, cupboard and table was cloaked in hundreds upon hundreds of neon pink post-its. They were on his couch, on his TV, his stereo, his clock—and every single one of them had identical pencilled writing on it. They all said the same thing.

_Date Me._

Utterly speechless, Harry padded across the room in a trance. A sharp flash of green caught his eye. There, in the centre of it all, on the largest wall of the living area hung a single green post-it. The writing on it was darker, done in bold, black marker. The brunet stepped closer to read it.

_You're right. I didn't know about the coffee-maker. I'm paying you in post-its._

Harry stared at it, dumbfounded. "That must be..."

"A thousand," a voice said from behind him. Harry spun around to see Draco leaning against the door frame into the hallway. "Well, actually nine hundred and ninety four, since you owed me six in the first place."

Ron stood in the kitchen gaping at them, looking completely confused. "A thousand _post-its_?"

Draco replied but his eyes never left Harry. "Yes. Assuming they're worth five pence apiece, that's fifty pounds. I'd have gone with your assessment of two pence, Potter, but that worked out to nearly twenty five hundred post-its. I reckon that would have been overkill."

"But... but..." Harry stammered. "How did you even have_ time_ for this, Draco?"

Draco shrugged. "If the length of your absence constitutes your definition of one hour, I suggest you retake Year Two. Besides, I had help."

Harry stared at him, gobsmacked and overwhelmed. He looked around the room again, the post-its fluttering at the corners from the breeze of the still-open front door.

"But... _why_?" he asked, unable to turn the question into more than just one word.

The blond slowly stepped forward, eyes boring into Harry's like shiny silver stones. "Because you told me to surprise you, Potter. Remember? You made it quite clear that the expected wasn't enough for your conceited arse." He shrugged again, looking around at his handiwork. "I figured this was appropriately unexpected."

Harry actually laughed and Ron snorted from the kitchen. "I'll say," the brunet gaped.

Draco, who had stopped a few paces away, closed the remainder of the space between them. He rested his hands on the sides of Harry's upper arms, staring him sharply in the eye. "Harry I—" he paused. He was afraid of saying too much.

"We could play these childish games forever and never get anywhere. Or, God willing, you could quit being a brat and level with me."

He searched those sparkling emerald eyes for answers, for any indication, any warning of what sort of response he might expect. There were flashes of neon glinting in them but they were still too shocked to reveal whatever Harry might be thinking. Draco took a deep breath.

"Just tell me—what will it take to make you mine?"

Harry said nothing for a long, torturous moment, staring at the blond through those surprised, wide eyes. Time stood still. Draco didn't breath. He was fairly certain his heart stopped beating as well. One moment became two, then three…. Gods, he'd just made a terrible, _terrible_ mistake.

Then with one quick motion, Harry had grabbed Draco's shirt collar and was meeting his lips in an affectionate kiss. The blond's heart started up again and, sliding an arm around the boy's waist, he inhaled deep and greedy, needing the oxygen but needing Harry more.

"Nothing," Harry whispered against his lips. "Nothing else." Emerald eyes met silver. "Consider me yours."


	13. Chapter 13

****A/N: Thanks sordid_humors for all your help! You are a star!****

**Chapter 13**

Nearly two weeks passed and Harry was, without a doubt, happier than a pig in shit. He'd finally dropped a smidgen of his callous attitude and the relief that he felt to have settled into something marginally tangible with Malfoy surprised even himself. He was still refusing to adopt any sort of official title—it wasn't particularly his style to jump on the 'boyfriend' band-wagon—but he was accepting the monotony thing with good graces, although it was at times a challenge to appease Draco's explosively jealous tendencies.

In fact, that was one of the many things that had them at each other's throats. They bickered quite regularly, their hard-headed and stubborn personalities always competing for the last word, the upper hand, the argumentative win. But the curses that flipped off their tongues were always stifled by urgent, angry kisses. The passion that sparked between them was unquestionable, absolute in all of its overwhelming fervour. The heat that shaded their cheeks and boiled their blood when they squabbled never failed to convert to desperate sensual lust in one swift, shuddering moment of heavy breaths and hasty, crashing mouths. Make up sex was something they were more than familiar with.

Since what could easily be considered as his surrender—even Harry couldn't help but see it that way —the brunet could tell that it was taking every ounce of Hermione's will power to keep her mouth shut against the chastising 'I told you so's that were begging to escape her lips. Harry admittedly took a tiny bit of amusement out of her struggles. She was predictable, if nothing else.

Ron hadn't said much on the subject and Harry figured it was mostly because he had had to witness the musician saying yes to Draco and promptly being tackled to the floor and robbed of his clothes by an impatient and enthusiastic blond. Fortunately, Harry was able to stop the molestation before anything got out of hand to retrieve an embarrassed and blushing Ron from his hiding place out on the front stoop. Nevertheless, Harry knew Ron was likely as pleased with the situation as Hermione—because despite his scepticism towards Malfoy, he did want to see his friend happy and Harry was well aware of that fact.

For the first time in a long time, Harry felt legitimately happy—but that was not to say their 'relationship' wasn't an adjustment. Harry was so used to being hit on left, right and centre that it was a bit of a knee-jerk reaction to dish it out in response. He and Draco had been exclusive barely a fortnight and already Harry had gotten himself into trouble a handful of times.

"Draco..." Harry warned one afternoon while having lunch on the patio of a small bistro. He sensed he'd used that careful warning tone with the blond just as many times as Draco had used it with him. Draco was scowling dangerously at a fidgeting young man a few tables away who kept darting worried and uncomfortable glances at the cooly intimidating Malfoy.

"The bloody git was hitting on you, Harry!" Draco spat.

"Malfoy, guys hit on me all the time. You were in the washroom—he didn't know any better! And you saw me tell him about you."

Draco sneered. "Yeah, for once," he muttered.

"Oh, relax, blondie. You know I'm trying."

Draco rolled his eyes but said nothing further on the subject.

"I don't know how you're going to survive coming to my shows. There are people all over me all the time—doesn't mean I'll do anything about it but I can't stop them from trying."

"I can," Draco scowled.

"You can't and you won't," Harry scolded. "If I'm going to be with anybody, it's going to be with someone who doesn't jump out of their skin if a bloke so much as bats an eyelash at me. I don't have that kind of patience."

Malfoy sighed and grudgingly tore his eyes away the stranger at the nearby table. "Sorry. I just don't like the idea of —"

"I know," Harry said, shaking his head to indicate Draco didn't need to explain. "I get it. I was like that once too, you know, believe it or not. So I don't need you to justify it; I just need you to control it."

Draco frowned. The thought of Potter being possessive didn't seem like him, even to Draco, who had managed to flip from being carefree about sex to being too fixated on Harry to even think about other blokes.

"I know," Harry chuckled, reading Draco's perplexed expression. "Hard to believe but it's the truth."

"What changed?"

Harry's face fell in an instant droop, his smile disappearing and his brows drawing together as he cleared his throat and changed the subject without so much as a beat's pause. "Um, so I've been meaning to ask you, you reckon you could help me pick out something at Bodens sometime this week?" He brought his water glass to his lips, taking a long swig and avoiding Draco's prying eyes.

Malfoy eyed him warily, observing his skittish gaze and sudden fidgeting. "Potter, that is easily the least subtle thing I've ever seen you do." He cocked an eyebrow at him. "And trust me, that's saying something," he added, "because by no stretch of the imagination are you a particularly suave chap in the first place."

The brunet just looked at him, his expression relatively clear that he wasn't planning on talking about it anytime soon. Draco would have pressed it but there was something pleading in the boy's vibrant eyes, something that suggested that this was, again, one of his many secrets and that he had his reasons to keep to himself.

Draco sighed. The sadness in Harry's eyes worried him but he let it slide for the time being, making yet another mental note to try to get to the bottom of things sometime in the near future.

"So what's this about Boden?" he conceded, licking his lips and leaning back in his chair with a relaxed wave of his hand to indicate for the boy to continue.

He saw Harry's tense brow relax, a soft and grateful grin slipping over his lips. "I figured you could help me pick out a suit. You likely know a lot more about them than I do. I don't think I've worn a suit since the sixth form dance Hermione dragged me to."

Taking a sip from his coffee cup, the blond smirked as he pictured a teenage Harry squirming and uncomfortable in a proper jacket and tie. "I'm sure," he drawled. "And what's the occasion this time?"

"Ron's sister's wedding. She was a good friend of mine—though I don't see her much these days."

Draco merely nodded, having little to say concerning the Weasley family—or having too much to say that would land him in the dog house should he be dumb enough to not bite his tongue. "Ah, well, wish her the best for me. When's the big day?"

"Next weekend," Harry replied, taking a bite off his sandwich and chewing slowly. Draco's mouth watered as he watched the muscles in Harry's jaw work the food, watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed… bloody hell, how did a man make something as ordinary as _eating_ seem sexy?

"But you can wish her yourself," Harry continued. Draco started; the brunet was talking again but Draco must have missed something because the boy's words were making little sense. He was clearly too distracted by the five o'clock shadow forming on the man's chin to have properly understood his meaning.

"I'm sorry, what?" Draco asked, grey eyes lingering on Harry's wagging lower lip.

"You can tell her yourself," the boy repeated. "Because you're coming with me."

~.~.~

"You are the second greatest idiot in the world, Potter," Draco snarled a few days later, though his harsh words were contrasting with his temperate hands, his long, refined fingers tugging carefully at the cuff of Harry's sleeve. The musician was a sodding fool to think Draco's presence at a Weasley wedding would be anything other than a recipe for disaster but—having little or no power to refuse those expressive jade orbs, those warm, persuasive touches, that beautiful, pouty mouth—Draco abandoned all hope of dodging this particular bullet and promptly made the best of it instead. After all, a few weekend hours spent browsing the men's fashion department was time well-wasted. He'd tried to convince Harry to go to Harrods—the selection there was much more to Draco's standards than what Boden had to offer but Harry wasn't having any of it. He'd insisted it was a waste of money for a suit he likely wouldn't wear again for a very long time. Honestly, the boy could be such a chav sometimes.

Harry chortled. "The second greatest? Who's my predecessor?"

"Me. For letting you convince me to do this."

He stepped back to admire his boyfr—admire Harry. The plus side of having to go to this sodding wedding was getting to put the man into respectable formal wear. As much as his usual boyish style had inexplicable effects on Draco's libido, there was something incomparably sexy about a man in a nice suit—especially _this_ man. And Gods, if Harry didn't look damn fine. The British-cut jacket Draco had selected for the brunet was a deep charcoal, near-black with double vents that drew the eye to his perky little bum beneath. The two buttons and high lapels served to lengthen Harry's short torso, bringing extra attention to his face—not that it was really necessary. The almost black of Harry's suit was just a shade lighter than his hair, accenting his dark brows and bringing out the richness of his natural color. The deep green tie Draco had found brought out the emerald of Harry's already arresting eyes. It was an understatement to say he would be turning heads away from the bride at this upcoming Weasley affair.

"It really won't be that bad," Harry insisted for the hundredth time. "A little wine, a little dancing—"

"A little Malfoy bloodshed, courtesy of the Weasley horde," Draco interrupted in a bored drawl, rolling his eyes and turning to face the mirror. "Yeah, you're right, what's not to like about that?" He studied his own reflection, inspecting the fit of the slate-grey jacket he'd tired on at Harry's insistence. He hadn't intended on buying anything—after all, he had plenty of suits at home, ones that were probably worth twice as much as this one—but he had to admit, this one hugged his frame nicely. He especially liked the deep purple lining—it was a captivating accent, rich in color and had to have been at least sixty percent silk. The weave was light enough to allow an appropriate amount of breathability but not so thin that it caused any serious concern regarding tearing. He lifted his arms to test the sleeve length and hummed in quiet approval when the hem did not ride up passed his watch.

Harry frowned at him. "What do you mean? You and Ron get along fine now. As long as I don't try to talk about our sex life, that is…."

"Yes. _Ron_ and I, sure. But what about his father? I'm sure Mr. Weasley will be less than thrilled to see you with me. At his daughter's _wedding_ no less."

"Arthur Weasley is an amazing man. His beef is with your father, not you. And unlike Ron, I'm sure he won't blame you for your dad's faults. The only reason Ron did was because he was worried about me."

Draco looked unconvinced but softened slightly when Harry stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the mirror and slipping dark-clad arms around his neck. He met Draco's lips with a soft kiss.

"You wanted to date me and you got what you wanted. Now you're my plus one. Deal with it," the brunet said with a boyish grin.

"Fine. But you owe me one."

Harry's smirk turned mischievous. "Don't worry, I repay all my debts—and _not_ in stationary," he teased, waggling his brows.

"Please, Potter, you _loved_ that shit," Draco leered. "I bagged you with that stunt."

Harry laughed, jaw dropping at the blond's snarky reply. "Okay, okay, so you did. But I don't foresee you having any complaints about your compensation..." he said, his tone suggestive as he brought his hands down to rest on Draco's firm chest, absentmindedly toying with the lapels of his suit. Harry leaned in to breath into the taller man's ear, gliding a hand down to cup the crotch of Draco's pressed trousers. "By the way, did I mention how _fucking hot_ you look in this suit, Malfoy?"

Draco groaned and wrapped his arms tightly around Harry's back. He adored the way the boy fit so perfectly against him; as if he belonged there, the way his narrow frame felt so right pressed into his chest. Draco seized Harry's full lips in a passionate kiss, feelings of both lust and endearment consuming him—the brunet's mouth tasted like nutmeg and coffee.

"You're a devious little shit, you know that?" Draco smirked as he pulled away.

"I know," was Harry's breathy response. "But you like it."

"Yes, because I'm a stupid, stupid man." Draco dropped his head into the crook of the boy's neck, searching for that spot behind his ear that always made Harry shiver and sigh. Draco's hands roamed Harry's solid form as his tongue left wet trails up the brunet's neck.

Harry moaned, swiftly falling victim to Draco's uninhibited caresses.

"Er, Draco, I should tell you something."

"Hmm?" Draco hummed against Harry's skin, his hands sneaking around the back of the boy's un-purchased trousers, gripping his arse through the cool fabric. "If it doesn't have to do with us fucking in that dressing room over there, it can wait."

Harry fought his arousal, biting his lip to avoid moaning again at Draco's tempting suggestion. He wasn't entirely successful at stifling his growing lust because Draco's hands and mouth were nothing less than incredible but he gritted his teeth and tried again.

"No, I really think you should know this... It's about Ginny."

Draco didn't so much as pause in his maneuvers. "Who's Ginny?" he mumbled, now tracing his tongue along the shell of Harry's ear, effectively scrambling the boy's already muddled thoughts. Fuck, he was good at this.

"Ugh…Ginny Weasley," the musician pressed. He could feel the intense frown that pinched his face as he fought to ignore the warm lips on his ear. "Ron's sister. The one whose _wedding_ you're going to. Honestly, Malfoy, do you listen to _anything_ I tell you?"

Draco finally pulled away with a frustrated sigh and Harry was grateful for the opportunity to relocate his brain. "Well, you always manage to bring this stuff up when you're getting naked…or grabbing my crotch," he added, glancing pointedly at the hand that Harry had involuntarily slid back down below Draco's belt. "Before bed, before the shower, before sex," he rattled off on counting fingers. "You take off your pants and I see that beautiful arse of yours and all I hear is blah, blah, blah..."

Harry laughed and gave Draco a playful smack on his suited chest. "Well forget about my arse for _one bloody second_—"

"Impossible," Draco teased, tightening his grip around the boy's hips.

Harry continued, ignoring the interruption. "—and just hear me out."

"Okay, Potter, I'm listening. What is it?"

Harry looked into that steel grey gaze and almost lost his train of thought… again. "Well, Ginny... I mean, it's really not that big of a deal…" he stammered. Fuck, when had talking become such a challenge? He felt… nervous? Really? Harry could count on one hand the times he remembered feeling nervous talking to a bloke. "I just thought you should know...and I'm only telling you because—"

"Oh, for God's sake, out with it."

Harry gave him a wary look. "Ginny and I, we—we dated for about a year in high school. She… well, she was my first."

~.~.~

"You are_ unbelievable_, Potter," Draco snarled, slamming the door of Harry's flat and storming into the kitchen.

It was the first thing he'd said to the boy since Harry had brought up Ginny at Bodens. Startled and irate, Draco's only reaction was to disappear into the changing room to retrieve their clothes then stomp up to the cash, dragging Harry behind him. He'd paid for both the suits, swatting Harry's hand away with a snarl when the boy tried to pull out his credit card—because despite how angry he was, he couldn't not buy the clothes that had so clearly had Harry ogling. They'd left the store still wearing their newly purchased garb.

Now back in the privacy of Harry's flat, the blond let loose. He threw open the fridge for the sheer want of something to do with his hands—to keep from punching a hole in the drywall. He snatched a carton of apple juice, flicking it open more aggressively than necessary and taking a large swig from the container.

Harry watched him nervously. To be honest, it was probably the most vulnerable Draco had ever seen the brunet but he was too frustrated to dwell on it.

"What? Why am I so unbelievable?" Harry asked.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Why, Potter? Why would you tell me that?" he spat, slamming the carton down onto the counter, a light spray of juice flying off the nozzle. "It's bad enough I have to go to this fucking circus wedding in the first place but thanks to your big mouth, I will now have the pleasure of watching the bride go down the aisle, all the while plagued with thoughts of how she went down on my boyfriend."

"I'm sorry! I just thought—" Harry stopped mid-sentence. "Wait—what did you say?"

Draco winced, cursing under his breath when he realized his blunder. "Fuck—forget it, Potter. It was a fleeting slip-up. It won't happen again." He ran tense fingers through his hair, frowning down at the floor. He hadn't meant to say it; he knew Harry was touchy about the whole 'boyfriend' thing but it had come out so easily. After all, they were fucking each other's brains out several times a day and they weren't dating other people. If that didn't constitute being in a relationship then Draco didn't know what did.

The brunet was quiet for a long time, torn on which problem to address and how. Draco eventually lifted his head to look at him.

"Honestly, Harry. Please don't fret over it. It just slipped out."

Harry met his gaze and shook his head, deciding not to deal with it. "Listen, I just thought you should know about Ginny because, well... I would want to know if I were you."

Draco's expression softened and he let out an exasperated grumble, rubbing his face in frustration. "I suppose I would have been rightly pissed if I'd found out later and you hadn't told me."

The boy nodded but remained quiet, watching Draco carefully. Finally the blond looked up at him, his eyes weary and disheartened. "This is all your fault, you know," Draco said, a very weak smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You and your..." he fumbled for the words and never found them. He shook his head. "I have no idea. I don't know what it is or how you do it but you make me bloody crazy—mad, Potter. Bloody mad."

Harry laughed lightly, his tension ebbing. "I'm fairly certain you were crazy before we met, Malfoy."

Unable to understand it, much less properly express himself, Draco shook his head again, shiny bangs falling into his eyes. He'd never felt so consumed with jealousy before Potter had come along. In fact, he hadn't felt a lot of things before Harry came along. He'd never been so territorial, felt so possessive—this boy had an inexplicable power over Draco and the more time they spent together, the more it was wearing on his trademark Malfoy Confidence.

Sighing in defeat, he held an arm out towards Harry, gesturing for him. Harry stepped forward and slipped into his arms, Draco dropping a kiss to the top of the smaller man's head, breathing in the natural, oaky scent of his unruly locks. It was like a mixture of tree bark and cinnamon, drying leaves and freshly baked apple pies; he was like bottled autumn. Holding the smaller boy was like breathing after suffocating, eating after fasting, drinking after thirsting. This obstinate and infuriating boy who had started out as so detached, so hardened, was swiftly transforming in front of Draco's eyes into someone with insecurities and vulnerability, with a heavy past and an unpredictable future. He was opening up to Draco. And Draco was drowning in him.

"Harry, I…."

Draco chomped down on his own disobedient tongue. He couldn't tell him. Not this early. He would spook the boy for sure. Hell, he spooked himself just thinking about it. They'd been dating little over two weeks and Draco was already ready to profess his love. It was unheard of and pathetic. Arguably, he'd had months to get to this point—it had undoubtedly started the very day they met—but he was confident Harry wouldn't see it that way.

And Draco had never been in love before. Ever.

He tried to tell himself that since he'd never experienced it before, there was no saying he knew anything about what he was actually feeling now. But Draco didn't believe his own lies for a second. He'd never felt this way about anyone. He wanted to give himself to Harry, wanted Harry to do the same for him; he wanted to know all his secrets and memorize his every detail—every curve, every freckle, every sensitive spot that made the brunet shudder. And he wanted to be the only man to ever again have the pleasure of having Harry, of knowing him this way.

"You what?" Harry asked, lifting his chin to meet Draco's gaze.

The blond grinned weakly but it didn't reach his eyes. "Nothing," he said, dropping a chaste kiss to the boy's lips. "Let's put these suits away, shall we?" He guided Harry's jacket off his shoulders before shrugging out of his own. "It would be a shame to stain them before even getting to the ceremony."

~.~.~

Since they'd started dating, they spent much of their spare time together but Draco continued to fight hard against the temptation to beg for Harry's company every night. He wasn't about to turn into a needy bitch just because being with Harry was substantially better than being without him. Still, Draco saw him almost every afternoon, stopping by his place after work, even if it was just to spend a few hours with him before Harry had to run off to get ready for a show.

The musician played almost every night at various locations. He usually had Sunday and Mondays off and he spent most of his daytime hours at the gym or going for runs. Draco was fascinated by his new insider's look on Harry's life. And yet, as much as he'd come to learn, the boy was still a mystery to him. He remained somewhat closed off, though his unpredictable mood swings were giving Draco glimpses at his emotional side. Draco still hadn't asked about Harry's past, afraid it would only serve to push the boy away. He was anxious to understand more of Harry's secretive life but knew it was a path better tread carefully. He yielded to simply waiting, hoping that Harry would at some point feel secure enough to bring it up on his own accord.

Draco found himself particularly twitchy by the time the sunny afternoon of the following Thursday rolled around. Midweek was always the hardest because it was when he saw Harry the least—and with the wedding two days away, he had more than one reason to be preoccupied at work.

"Malfoy? You alright?" He was sitting in the conference room, sunlight streaming through the large windows and his thoughts had managed to wander off again. His co-worker was giving him a slightly concerned look.

Draco shook his head, trying to refocus. "Forgive me, James," he apologized. "I don't know where my head's at today."

Thankfully it was a relatively casual meeting and neither of his colleagues seemed too bothered by his remiss behaviour.

"Not to worry—I think we're all feeling a little distracted with the end of the week approaching," James replied with a friendly smile. He checked his watch. "It's just about three anyway. Why don't you take the rest of the afternoon off, Draco? We're pretty well finished here anyway."

Draco could have kissed the man. But he graciously thanked him, stood to shake the hands of both his colleagues and bolted out from the room so he could be kissing Harry Potter, instead.

When he burst through the door of Harry's flat, the man was just stepping out of his bedroom.

"Draco," he said in surprise, beaming at the sight of blond, who was hastily closing the front door and dropping his briefcase. "I didn't know you were coming today."

"I'm not," Draco replied, assaulting Harry before the brunet could take so much as two steps towards the entrance way. "You are." He pinned the man against the hallway wall, sucking his sweet bottom lip into his mouth. Pressing against Harry with all his weight, Draco shot both his hands to the boy's head, grasping rather violently at his dark hair.

Harry moaned at the pleasure and pain of Draco's forceful advances, eagerly meeting his fervent kisses, his heart already hammering in his chest. This gorgeous, fair skinned man had the power to render him breathless within moments. He opened his mouth, greedily accepting Draco's tongue and shivered when the blond breathed into the kiss.

But the mouth to mouth contact ended much sooner than Harry would have liked and he groaned as Draco pulled away. Then the blond was on his knees, ripping open the fly of his jeans and giving Harry much more to groan about.

Draco was quick about tending to Harry's swiftly hardening shaft. He stroked his tongue up the underside of Harry's length and, with a thumb and forefinger squeezing the base of his cock, paused to tease the head with darting flicks of his tongue. Harry was panting and jutting forward, wanting to push inside Draco's beautiful pink lips but the blond pressed Harry's hips to the wall, keeping him still. He worked his way back down Harry's now throbbing erection and lapped at his scrotum with a wet tongue. When he sucked one of Harry's testicles into his hot mouth, the brunet beat his head back against the wall with a colourful narration of just how amazing it felt. He twisted his fingers into Draco's silky tresses, moaning his name.

Draco gave Harry's cock a couple teasing tugs before closing his mouth over his head and sucking fervently. Harry's sighs of pleasure fuelled his enthusiasm and with his lips now slippery with saliva and precum, he took the rest of Harry's length into his mouth with an eager bob. Feeling over-zealous, Draco almost gagged as he deep-throated Harry a little too hastily—but when the head of Harry's prick slammed against the back of Draco's throat and the brunet let out a lust-filled groan, Draco reckoned the choking was worth it. He pulled back and tried again, this time taking Harry in to the hilt at a more agreeable rate, giving his throat a chance to adapt to the intrusion.

As he fell into a comfortable rhythm, he slowly released Harry from his grip, allowing the anxious brunet to take control, his hips snapping forward and effectively fucking Draco's mouth. He felt the man's grip in his hair tighten as his eager whining increased. Draco hummed against his shaft, sending stimulating vibrations shooting through Harry's body. One of his hands slid up over Harry's hip to lightly grasp his side. His fingers pressed into the boy's warm skin—he could feel the boy's ragged breath catching in his gut as he approached his climax.

"_Fuck, _Draco," Harry ground out, his abs heaving. Draco moaned over Harry's cock again, the boy's arousal stirring excitement in Draco's chest. He took pleasure in making Harry moan, making him tremble and gasp. The second dose of vibrations from Draco's throat seemed to do Harry in because the musician was suddenly riding out his orgasm with a guttural cry. Draco sputtered as Harry's load filled his throat and hot seed dripped out the sides of his mouth. But being a Malfoy, he performed this job like he did all his others—with thorough determination and a diligence to see it through till the bitter end. So he held his ground and composure until he'd sucked Harry clean before pulling away and licking his chops.

Utterly spent, Harry rested his head back against the wall, eyes closed and lungs gasping for air in sharp, rasping breaths. Draco gently tucked Harry back into his trousers, refastening his jeans. He slowly slithered up to press into the warmth that radiated off Harry's panting body, kissing his neck, then his chin, then the corner of his mouth.

Warm green eyes eased open and Harry met Draco's mouth with a tired kiss, tasting himself on Draco's lips. He hummed softly. "That was the best 'hullo' ever," he mumbled.

Draco only nodded slightly, capturing the boy's lips again. He could have gone on this way for ages, just savouring the taste of Harry's mouth, memorizing his scent—which is why he groaned in displeasure when Harry started talking again.

"Dray… baby, I have to leave…." He snuck a glance at his watch. "Ten minutes ago, actually."

Draco paused, giving Harry a very curious look. "Since when do we use pet names?" He tried to lace his tone with mockery but his heart clenched at the way Harry had said 'Dray'. He didn't _want_ to like it; in fact there was a deeply ingrained part of him that felt the compulsive need to spit in his face for demeaning his name in such a way. But coming from Harry—a boy who Draco was swiftly discovering to be a bit of a sap—it was regrettably endearing.

The musician shrugged. "Since now I guess. Does it bother you?"

Instead of answering, Draco just shook his head and leaned in for another kiss. Harry squirmed though and eventually pushed the taller man off of him.

"Sorry, I _really_ have to go. Ron and Hermione have probably already started setting up. I'll see you tomorrow though, yeah?"

Draco sighed, hating that he had to wait until tomorrow. He wasn't a patient man. "Yeah, tomorrow." But he frowned as he realized something. "Wait, you're not playing tomorrow night are you? With the wedding the next day?"

"Nah," Harry replied, disappearing for a moment into his room, calling his response to Draco. "We took the night off. Hermione's taking Ginny out for her bachelorette party." He reappeared with a zip-up jumper on and was in the process of tugging on his leather jacket.

"And Wood? You taking him out for his stag?"

"Fred and George are really the ones taking care of that. I considered going… Ron wants me to, anyhow. I reckon it won't go very late—no one wants a hung over bride and groom at the altar. But I hadn't quite decided. I figured I might go if you wanted to."

"If I wanted to?" Draco repeated. Go to the Weaslette's future husband's stag? He wasn't sure how weird that would be.

Harry shrugged. "Well, it doesn't matter. Sleep on it. I'll call you tomorrow afternoon."

They parted with a hurried goodbye. Draco got into his car feeling morbidly unsatisfied and in dire need of a good wank.


	14. Chapter 14

****A/N: Thanks for the beta from sordid_humor, I love you Trey!****

**Chapter 14**

Blaise was lounging on the couch watching tele when Draco got home that afternoon.

"Well if it isn't lover boy," he said with a lazy smile, glancing over the back of the sofa to meet Draco's somewhat weary gaze. "Long day?"

"It felt that way," Draco replied, tugging off his jacket and hanging it up. "But I actually got off early. I stopped by Harry's."

"I can see that," Blaise noted, cocking an eyebrow as a knowing smirk played at the corners of his mouth. "You have cum on your chin."

Draco's eyes widened in horror, his hand flying to his face, rubbing frantically at his chin and checking his fingers.

Blaise burst out laughing. "I'm only kidding. But you should have seen your face. Not to mention I now know exactly what you've been up to," he added with a snort. "You filthy little whore."

"You're a pain in my arse, Zabini," Draco drawled, glaring daggers at him.

"Me? Wouldn't that be Potter?"

The blond stomped over to the couch and wrapped cold fingers around Blaise's neck, feigning chocking him. The Italian only laughed harder, waving Draco's hands away. "Well! You leave these things wide open for me. 'A pain in my arse'? Honestly, Malfoy, you should know me better than that by now."

Draco loosened his tie and flicked open the top button of his shirt as he flopped down onto the sofa beside Blaise. "Of course—how could I forget? You have the maturity level of a five-year-old."

"So how are things with Potter?" Blaise asked, idly flipping through the channels though paying little attention to what was on them.

"Well, you know what I was up to," Draco replied, throwing his friend a smirk. "So, what do you think?"

Blaise pretended to gag. "'Nuff said. Well, at least now that you have a boyfriend I don't have to worry about you trying to jump my bones any time soon."

Draco chuckled but shot Blaise a pointed look. "I can't make any promises about Harry, though. He's mentioned trying to turn you," he teased.

The brunet rolled his eyes. "Perfect." He brought both his hands together and cupped them in front of his mouth, making loud, mechanical breathing sounds. "Come to the Dark Side, Luke," he mocked in his best impression of the infamous Dark Lord.

"You're hilarious, Zabini, really. Oh, and don't call him that while he's around, okay?"

Blaise frowned. "Call who, what?"

"Harry," Draco answered, sighing and running his fingers through his lank hair. "Don't call him my boyfriend."

"Why? I thought he agreed to date you?" Blaise asked, perplexed.

"He did. He's just—" Draco paused. Harry was what? Afraid? Stubborn? Difficult? "We're just taking it one step at a time."

Blaise watched him silently for a minute, forgetting about the tele. "I'm sensing the 'we' isn't so much of a 'we' as it is a 'he'."

"Pardon?"

"_He's_ taking it one step at a time. _You_ on the other hand…." The Italian raised a scrutinizing brow, amused glint lighting those rich brown eyes. "You've got it bad."

Draco avoided his gaze. "What do you know, Zabini?"

"You, mate," Blaise insisted, grinning. "We've discussed this, remember? I know you like the back of my hand. You're bat-shit crazy about him, aren't you?"

Draco could only groan and hide his coloring face in his hands. He wished he could look Blaise in the eye and tell him how wrong he was—even more than that, he wished he could believe it. While Harry wasn't keen on putting a stamp on their so-called "relationship", Draco was already in over his head and still wondering how in hell's name he'd gotten there.

~.~.~

That night, Draco had fallen into a blissful sleep, dreams filled with images of lustful encounters between a pale blond and a gorgeous, raven-haired man. His dreams tonight were vivid; he could almost hear Harry's low moaning, smell his hair, feel his skin….

When the bed shifted, Draco opened his eyes. He wasn't dreaming.

He was lying on his side, now wide awake, watching Harry slip underneath the covers and carefully press his back to curve along the front of Draco's body. So he _could_ feel his skin and smell his hair. Draco smiled into his pillow.

"Apparently, Potter, you are just as terrible at sneaking in as you are at sneaking out," he whispered warmly, wrapping an arm around Harry's thin waist and hugging him tight against his chest.

Harry gasped in surprise at the voice, turning slightly to look at Draco. "You scared me. I didn't know you were awake."

Draco grinned. "I wasn't… until you woke me."

Harry grinned back apologetically. "Sorry. I knew I blew it when I stubbed my toe on the footboard." He rested his head back on the pillow, having gotten uncomfortable craning his neck to look at Draco.

Draco pressed a kiss to the side of Harry's face, squeezing him in closer. "Don't apologize. But what are you doing here? Actually, never mind _what_ are you doing here—_how_ did you get here?"

"Zabini let me in. He's still up playing video games."

"What time is it?"

"Almost two."

Draco was silent a moment, pressing the tip of his nose against the back of the boy's neck. His mind raced. This was unusual. Draco and Blaise's apartment was further from town than Harry's place. Why would he bother coming all the way out here at nearly two in the morning? Just for a snuggle? Draco nearly gave an incredulous snort just at the thought. That definitely wasn't something the free-spirited Potter would do. Hell, that wasn't even something Draco would do. But if Harry had been trying not to wake him… then he hadn't snuck in for the pleasure of a midnight shag.

"What would you have done if Blaise wasn't up?" Draco asked quietly. "There's no way you could have known he'd answer the door."

Draco felt Harry's shoulder shrug against him. "Dunno—called you, I guess."

The gesture felt altogether too sweet for Draco to question. Maybe Harry was caving. One minute he was sarcastic and frivolous, the next he was showing signs of being a perfect sap. But Draco didn't want to do anything to discourage the boy from easing up, so he dropped the subject and pressed a kiss to Harry's bare shoulder, holding him tightly as they drifted off to sleep.

~.~.~

About four hours later, Draco's alarm blared and a drowsy brunet groaned profanities into the black and silver pillow case.

"Mnnggg… fuck... you… Malfoy…."

Draco didn't move or even open his eyes, both surprised and pleased to find he was still entangled in Harry's warm body, that smooth honeyed skin still flush against Draco's.

"You do know that's not _me_ making that noise, right Potter?" he mumbled, his tone calm and unperturbed.

The brunet groaned again. "…Turn it off. Before I fucking kill you."

Draco chuckled and relinquished his grasp on the boy to twist and reach behind himself, hitting the snooze on the alarm. He was quick to slip his arm back around Harry's waist, not willing to give up the moment despite the man's cranky disposition.

"You're the one who decided to break into my bedroom last night. I work today, ya git."

At this Harry turned in Draco's arms, squinting up at him from behind hooded lids, his brow heavy with sleep. "I did not _break_ in."

Now face to face with the blond, Harry trailed gentle fingers down Draco's stomach, toying with the waist band of his pants. His hand tripped up Draco's hips, grazing protruding pelvic bones, then finding the man's hand to slowly lead it down between their bodies, where he left it cupping his own morning wood.

Draco's eyes widened as Harry's arousal pressed hot and hard against his palm. "Well, good morning to you too," he simpered, his light colored brows lifting. He watched in amusement as Harry's expression turned playful, the brunet biting his lower lip and catching the corner of that supple flesh beneath a row of pearly whites.

"Mornin'," Harry muttered. His grin disappeared as he rolled his groin into Draco's hand, urging the man to tend to his quite fixable problem.

Sucking in a deep breath and holding the boy's eyes in a steady gaze, Draco smirked, rubbing his palm into Harry's erection and giving it a quick squeeze—before letting go. "Hate to disappoint, Harry, but I can't. Much as I'd love to." He was rolling away and getting out of bed. "I have to shower and get ready for work."

Harry's scowl turned into more of a pout. "I never took you for a tease, Malfoy."

"I learned it from you, Potter," Draco replied in a sing-song voice. He winked at him before disappearing into the bathroom and shutting the door. A few seconds later, the snooze on the alarm expired and it went off again. Draco could hear Harry bitch at it from the other room and then there was the unmistakable thud and crash of the radio being thrown at the wall. Draco snickered to himself as he held a wrist under the shower head, waiting for the water to get warm.

He wasn't surprised when less than five minutes into his shower, he heard the bathroom door open and close behind him. He concealed his smirk, keeping his back to the shower entrance as Harry stepped in, trailing eager hands down Draco's soapy back. His shampoo dripped from his platinum locks and the suds met Harry's fingers in slippery bliss. Holding his ground, the blond continued to scrub at his hair, letting the smaller man explore the crevices of his slender body.

Harry's hands slid lower, until they were gripping Draco's delightfully round backside, teasing between his cheeks with one daring finger. A soft moan slipped from Draco's pink lips and he tipped his chin towards his chest as he tried to tame the stirring in his gut.

But when Harry dropped to the shower floor, lips hovering torturously over the small of Draco's back, the fair skinned man stopped trying to tame anything. He widened his stance, somewhat subconsciously, his toes curling in anticipation.

Harry brought his lips to the crest of Draco's lower spine, right at the base of his back and the beginning of his arse. Draco shuddered when Harry darted his tongue out to draw a tantalizing line over the spot, his tongue dipping between the very beginnings of Draco's butt cheeks. The blond gave an eager moan. He imagined he must have tasted like soap.

With little warning, Harry slipped between Draco's legs, twisting so he was sitting on his heels, with his face in Draco's crotch. His hands slid around Draco's waist, playing in the suds from his dripping skin and finding a solid grip on his angular hips. When Harry took the purpling head of Draco's prominent erection into his hot mouth, a guttural groan escaped Draco's chest and his hands shot out to the shower walls in an effort to brace himself. The glass door shook with a loud bang as his palm slapped against it dangerously.

"Gods, Potter…." He never grew tired of that mouth—never got used to it, no matter how many times he'd experienced it. Harry's mouth on his cock was like heaven. It was better than heaven. It was being sucked-off by an incredibly fit Sex God with no gag reflex and an uncanny understanding of exactly what got Draco's blood rushing to his groin so fast he was left feeling dizzy. It was paradise, oasis, perfection. It was Harry.

Harry smirked against Draco's cock, gazing up at him through bright green eyes. He watched Draco's picturesque features contort in carnal pleasure. He really was beautiful. He had a certain luminescent grace to him, his fair skin delicate and flawless. But his striking grey eyes, ever changing in shade—his angular jaw and precise, Patrician bone structure—made him look anything but fragile. He was a man, strong and bold and powerful; but a beautiful one, nonetheless.

Harry gripped at the blond's curvy backside with firm hands. He took the entirety of Draco's gorgeous length into his mouth at an incredible rate. Coming up for air once or twice, he teased the swelling tip with his tongue and teeth (ever, _ever,_ so lightly) before closing over him again, in slower, tormenting strokes.

Draco was moaning loudly now, banging his hands against the walls from time to time in anxious ecstasy. Blaise probably thought they were tearing the place apart.

"F-fuck—" Draco was gasping, perched dangerously close to release. His whole body quavered— actually, he was slightly concerned he might fall. Thankfully, Harry had a steady grip on his hips, all but supporting him.

His head shot back, mouth hanging open awkwardly but no noise escaped it. He was hurdling forward now, his impending climax speeding towards him and there was nothing he could do to slow it down.

And then he was seeing stars, screaming Harry's name as he came forcefully. How the man had gotten him to such a violently staggering orgasm with a simple blow job, Draco would never know. He felt winded and weak, like he'd just run a marathon—a really, _really, _terrific marathon.

He let himself fall to his knees, resting on his haunches. His forehead fell against Harry's shoulder, water rushing down the sides of his face and dripping into his mouth and nose. "Well, Potter, I must say," he panted. "You have outdone yourself. Again."

He felt Harry's chest rise and fall with his chuckle. Draco sighed. Yup. Zabini was right—he was so screwed.

~.~.~

When Draco stepped into the common area of his flat shaved, dressed and, thanks to Harry, feeling especially refreshed, he gave his roommate a brief nod and wandered into the kitchen to make himself some coffee. "Morning, Blaise. I'm surprised you're up already."

The brunet snorted from his reclined position on the couch, cradling a big bowl of cheerios on his chest. He stared at Draco incredulously. "Oh, are ya?" he mumbled rather crudely through a mouthful of half-chewed cereal. "Though' I'd sleep blissfully through yer screamin', did ya?"

Draco shot him a guilty grin. "Sorry, mate."

Blaise rolled his eyes, this time taking a moment to swallow. "Sure you are. Must be some talented boyfriend you got there. It's been far too long since a bird's gotten _me_ screaming like that."

Draco smirked as he filled the coffee maker with a pot full of water. Yes, Harry was one hell of a bird. Talented little fucker, too—although Draco liked to think some of it had to do with the chemistry between them. He winced to himself as the thought instinctively ran through his mind—Gods, he was turning into a bloody nancy-boy.

"He's going to sleep another couple hours, by the way," Draco told him. "You going to be here long enough to lock up behind him?"

Blaise waved a flippant hand. "No sweat. I don't work till noon, anyway. If he 'aint up by then, I'll carry his arse outta here. He's a small bloke."

Draco laughed. "I'm not sure that would be wise. He's stronger than he looks. Plus, there's no saying what he might try to do if you had your hands all over him," he teased. If Draco had actually believed the words, they wouldn't have been nearly as amusing but as he felt that he could, for the most part, trust Harry to keep his horny hands to himself, it was fun to push Blaise's buttons.

"Hell," Blaise said, raising his thick brows as he took another spoonful of milk and cereal. "If this morning was any indication of what that would be like, I'm not sure I would even object."

Silver eyes sparkled and Draco let out another barking laugh. "I'll be sure to tell him you said that," he promised. "Oh, before I forget—you off at a decent time tonight?" he asked, leaning against the kitchen counter and crossing his arms. "Harry and I are going to a stag. You interested in having a few drinks with us? I don't know the bloke but Harry asked me to invite you and George."

Blaise gave a complacent shrug. "Sure. I'll be there." He paused, chewing in contemplation. "Although… willingly going to a sausage fest made up of fifty percent queers sounds a bit on the dangerous—no, let me rephrase that—a bit on the _stupid_ side, but hey, I like an adventure just as much as the next bloke."

Draco snorted. "I believe the gays will all be spoken for, Zabini, so you should be lurker-free."

The Italian's sarcastic drawl was both crystal clear and playful. "Pity."

~.~.~

"So, why 'The Three _Broomsticks'_? Why not 'The Three Mops'? Or 'The Three Vacuum Cleaners'? 'The Three Sponges', The Three Squeegees'?"

"Because, Zabini, all those ideas are inane, you sputtering imbecile."

"Can it, Drake."

"'The Three Broomsticks'… it does have something of a ring to it though, doesn't it?" Little George's sloppy smile was too precious, his cheeks flushed as his delicate fingers fiddled with the peeling label of his beer bottle, dead set on appearing less drunk than he had in the past.

"Sure," Blaise scoffed. He was quite lashed already—Draco could tell by the way his hands flailed with every enthusiastic word he spoke. "A _gay_ ring! 'Oh, cheerio there, lad. Would you care for a ride on me ol' stick?'" Blaise performed the quote in an over-accentuated, posh accent. "The Three _Broomsticks?_ It sounds like a cheap porno. I mean, really."

"Nah. If they were goin' fer the porn thing, they woulda called it, "The Three Window Washers," the Irishman offered with a wicked grin.

Harry shook with laughter. "Seamus is right, Zabini. I think you're over thinking it."

The bachelor party had assembled at the local pub not an hour before and things were quickly picking up. It was a fairly large but complimentary group, consisting of course of Harry and many of his old school mates: Seamus Finnegan, the gregarious Irishman, Oliver Wood, the groom to be with the endearing Scottish lilt, and three of the Weasley men, Ron, Fred, and George. Draco had been informed that apparently, there were _six_ brothers, (Gods have mercy on him,) but the others weren't making it out due to jet-lag induced comas of their quite recent arrivals. Completing the rowdy gang was Draco, Blaise, and the sweet-faced Little George.

Harry hadn't been particularly demonstrative with Draco since their arrival at the pub. Evidently, the boy was comfortable with over the top sexual forms of PDA but when it came to subtle affection, it was another story entirely; usually, this wouldn't have bothered the blond, but again there was The Beast, Draco's wild and territorial instinct over his innocently sociable date. The wandering eyes of passing flirtatious bints as well as the odd bloke or two made Draco fight the urge to growl at them, bare his teeth like a wild animal—which was lunacy… he was fairly certain he was losing his mind.

Draco chanced sneaking an arm around Harry's lower back, hoping the man would now be distracted enough to let it slide, and he discretely rested a hand on Harry's upper thigh. Harry didn't particularly return the gesture but his weight was _ever so slightly_ resting against Draco's torso and the blond accepted that as progress.

"Maybe there's just something he's not telling us," the red-headed George insinuated with a smirk.

"Yes, his obsession with gay undertones_ is _a little cryptic—" his twin agreed with an equally mischievous nod.

"Maybe he's batting for your side of the team, brother."

"What?" Blaise exclaimed, a reasonably appalled look on his face. "That's bollocks! I'm not a poof! Draco, tell them!"

Knowing it would get a rise out of him, Draco brought his beer bottle to his lips as an excuse to reply only with an innocent shrug, raising one enigmatic brow.

"Wait, fergive me," Wood interjected, looking to Blaise with a hesitantly coy smile. He was, after all, the more polite of the group and the frank nature of their conversation went slightly against his well-mannered instincts. "But yer straigh'?"

Most people at the table burst out laughing, save for Ron, Seamus and Oliver, who didn't know the Italian well enough to anticipate his horrified response.

But horrified he was. In his shock, he was silent for quite some time, staring at the Scotsman in what could only be described as sheer revulsion.

"You… you thought I was _bent_?" he sputtered, slack-jawed and clearly offended.

More good-natured laughs from the men at the table, though mostly from those who _did_ prefer men; in their eyes, the concept of a scally bloke like Blaise being queer was more entertaining than believable.

"I'm sorry, mate," Oliver offered. "It's jus' tha' ye came in with Malfoy and Harry, and tha' lil' one 'ere… I jus' sort of assumed…." Making a respectable effort to withhold his laughter, Wood bit his lip, his expression a mixture of guilt and strain.

"I don't get it!" Blaise huffed, looking down on his body and patting his chest and garments as if he were inspecting himself for signs of whatever could have betrayed his intended image. "I don't look like a poof, do I?"

Little George was giggling in Fred's arms. The rest of the group exchanged silent glances.

Blaise's concern deepened, alarmed by the lack of immediate response. "_Do I?_

"I don't know, Blaise," Draco drawled. "What exactly does a poof look like?"

The Italian didn't answer, frozen in some sort of distraught stupor. "It's my hair, isn't it?" he stammered.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, Zabini, that's exactly it. You have homosexual hair."

The men shared another collective laugh. Ron shook his head and brought a hand to his forehead in amusement.

About an hour later, Draco found himself sitting next to Seamus on one end of the table while his boyfriend ordered more shots for Oliver and the Weasleys. Sipping his Guinness, he eyed Harry—who was happy and laughing with his mates. Draco wasn't sure what he thought of the bitter-heavy taste of the Irish lager, but Finnigan had ordered him one. He was actually starting to like the Irishman; he was a good chap, friendly and light-hearted.

"So, you an' 'Arry then? When did tha 'appen?"

Draco turned to him with a polite smile. He couldn't help but continue to cast sideways glances at the brunet. He didn't like that Harry wasn't within reach, didn't like that he couldn't touch him, feel the heat coming off his frame—not to mention make it evident to passersby that the boy belonged to him. Draco's darting eyes passed over Fred, who still had a cradling arm around Little George's shoulders. Draco pursed his lips, trying to ignore the animosity he was feeling towards his teenage friend.

"Well… only recently, really. But I've been on his heels for a few months now."

Seamus laughed, a warm, hearty chuckle. "Yes, 'Arry's somewhat of a rogue one. I'll be honest with ya, I'm a wee bit surprised ya managed to pin him down at all."

"So am I," Draco replied. "Although, I'm not so certain I _have_ pinned him down."

Seamus waved a hand at Draco's words. "I wouldn't worry 'bout it, mate. 'E's a sap—'E just hides it well, is all. Ever since Michael…."

Draco's silver gaze cut to Seamus. "What? Who's Michael?"

"Oh, I—"

Seamus's reply was cut off by Ron's thundering voice. "Oh, would you come off it already, Zabini? No one thinks you're gay. Just forget it."

The men on the other end of the table were laughing uproarously and looking plenty sloshed, Harry especially. He was slouched in his chair, his gestures sloppy and his lips curved into a crooked grin. Ron and Oliver were both red in the face and Blaise was teetering dangerously on the edge of his seat.

"Speak for yourself, Ron," Harry said. "Zabini's obsessing. I have a feeling there's a reason for that."

Blaise looked about ready to throttle Harry. "Potter, you shut your gob. Draco seems to think you'd put up a good fight but I've no doubt I could take you."

Fred cocked a playful eyebrow. "You know… there's really only one good way to settle this," he said with an impish grin.

"Yes, brother, I like the way you think," George agreed. "Harry, would you do the honors?"

Harry smirked and, for a moment, met eyes with Draco, throwing him a wink. "My pleasure."

The group watched as Harry stood and sauntered over to Blaise's chair, where the Italian was frozen in confusion.

"What? What are you doing, Potter?"

Harry grabbed the back of Blaise's chair, giving it a tug and shifting it away from the table. He came around to stand in front of Blaise, trailing a hand on the man's shoulders as he did.

Blaise looked dumbfounded. "Seriously, Potter, wha—"

But he stopped short when Harry lowered himself to straddle Blaise's lap. The group hooted and laughed and a mortified Ron bowed his head in embarrassment.

Resting his arms around Blaise's neck, hands still gripping the back of the chair, Harry licked his lips and spoke inches from the other man's face. "The truth is, Zabini, ya really can't know 'til ya try it, yeah?"

Blaise opened his mouth to retort but before he could fully recover from his shock of having ten or eleven stone's worth of man in his lap, Harry's lips met his. The musician captured Blaise's pouty mouth in an enthusiastic kiss, slipping a tongue between the Italian's still-parted lips.

Draco's gut had given a violent lurch when he'd first seen Harry suggestively straddle his best mate's lap. But when Harry was suddenly latched to Blaise's mouth, the uneasiness in Draco's stomach escalated to sheer unadulterated fury.

Oh, this was _so_ not happening.

Draco was at their side in seconds, before Blaise could even render himself functional enough to push Harry away. Amongst his own screaming thoughts, Draco stressed the fact that Blaise _would_ have pushed the boy away. Of course he would have. Harry was a man, first of all, and Blaise, though comfortable with Draco's sexuality, was as straight as they came. And secondly, Harry was _Draco's _ man and Blaise was also as loyal as they came; he wouldn't have risked upsetting Draco, nor would he have risked his own skin—he knew the blond well enough to know that he was a danger when angered. One should never tickle a sleeping dragon.

Gripping the back of Harry's belted waistband, Draco tugged the boy off Blaise's lap.

"Excuse me, Potter, but would you mind not shoving your good-for-nothing tongue down my best mate's throat?" His words were scathing and he spat Harry's name like he would a profanity.

Harry, who had at first been smiling when he'd been pulled out of the brief snog, now frowned at the Draco's reaction. "Awe, come on, Malfoy, wha's it to ya? We were jus' havin' a bit o' fun."

He was still teasing, still making jokes as though he couldn't see the physical effects of Draco's very real discomfort. The blond was tense, his hands in tight fists, the tendons in his arms prominent beneath his pallid skin. His brows were low and straight, lips pursed in a thin, angry line.

"What's it to me?" He glared at Harry in repulsed irritation. He brought himself closer to the brunet's ear, willing himself to keep his voice low. "If you have to ask that question, Potter, then we really shouldn't be doing this," he muttered darkly.

Suddenly, the corners of ethereal emerald eyes turned down and darkened sadly. "Dray, I was just goofin' 'round…." He tentatively trailed gentle fingers down Draco's cheek and jaw; the muscles there tightened when Draco clenched his teeth at the touch. Goofing around. Right. Was he ever _not_ goofing around?

"I know you think that's fair justification, Potter, but you are wildly mistaken."

Draco barely realized that his hand that had grabbed the back of Harry's trousers was now carefully placed on the small of his back. It wasn't relaxed, nor was it there in any sort of soft gesture, but it was there as if it was in its innate nature to do so, to always be seeking to touch him. When Draco noticed, he was tempted to remove it. He was, after all, angry with Harry; he shouldn't be touching him this way, allowing him any reason to believe that his actions were acceptable—but somehow, it was Draco who found comfort in the light touch and he couldn't bring himself to pull away.

As Harry rose to his toes and leaned up to Draco's ear, the blond's eyes slid shut, unable to prevent the muscles in his face from relaxing. Harry's breath ghosted over his neck and ear, smelling of beer and Jägermeister. He felt one of Harry's hands slide up to rest between his shoulder blades, subtly rubbing tiny circles. "Hey… it's gettin' late, anyway," he whispered, dropping a warm kiss to the tender spot below Draco's ear, where neck met jaw. "Come home with me?"

Draco let a tired sigh escape his lips. A part of him screamed to deny this misbehaving Harry the pleasure of his company… but he was finding it next to impossible to stay mad at the boy—especially with that tongue tracing lines around the shell of his ear…. The hand that was resting in the curve of Harry's back slipped forward to take a soft grip on Harry's waist. "You really are a manipulative twat, Potter…."

Harry was now kissing the short stubble on the side of Draco's jaw and the blond felt Harry's lips curve into a smirk against his skin. "But ya love me for it," he purred before sucking Draco's fleshy earlobe into his hot, wet mouth.

Draco winced, despite the pleasant shiver that shot through his body and caused his skin to tremble. _You have no idea…._


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Thanks to my talented and wonderful beta, sordid_humor!**

**Chapter 15**

Draco collapsed into the wooden chair in Harry's kitchenette, watching the brunet drink from the glass of water Draco had forced on him when they'd gotten in. The boy had had a lot to drink tonight—he was sure to be thanking Draco in the morning.

Silver eyes were somewhat vacant, the stark black rim encircling his irises making the Malfoy would-be heir appear more alert than he actually felt. He was lost in his head—which was currently a dark, dizzying place that made Draco's stomach do uncomfortable flips and rendered him slightly nauseous. Harry had kissed Blaise. _Blaise_. Draco's best mate. Blaise, Draco's _straight_ best mate. But Harry had kissed him in his drunken stupor to, what? Prove a point? Draco didn't want to even _think_ of the can of worms _that_ opened.

He cringed. The throbbing ache behind his eyes was getting worse. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. His better judgement told him that Harry had only been trying to be funny, to poke fun at the overly paranoid 'breeder' who'd been the object of ruthless teasing the majority of the evening. Draco _knew_ that; He could even see himself doing the same thing and laughing at the dumbfounded look on Blaise's face, had the situation been different. But there was this other part of him, this foreign, irritating, unusual part of him that felt about ready to lose his lunch at the thought of Harry's lips—those soft, supple and wretchedly beautiful lips—on anyone else's but his own.

He looked up when he sensed movement above his head. Harry was standing over him, large round eyes looking down on him accompanied by a half-lashed lopsided grin. The intensity of his deep, sad gaze was staggering and Draco could do little more than watch carefully as Harry reached passed Draco's shoulders and grasped the back of the chair. Using it as support, he eased himself down onto Draco's lap—much like he'd done with Blaise, Draco couldn't help thinking with an uncomfortable twist of his gut.

Draco sucked in a deep rattling breath as brunet's weight distributed over his lap and chest, pressing him into the hard edges of the chair. Harry's hand rested firmly against his chest; he could probably feel Draco's heart beating against his rib cage. As the smaller man leaned close, Draco couldn't help but gravitate towards him, drawn into the crook of Harry's neck, nose and brow brushing into the untamed locks behind the boy's ear. Draco instinctively pressed into the heat; on his cheek he could feel Harry's steady pulse beneath his hot skin. He was startlingly warm tonight, actually, radiating like a furnace. Draco supposed he shouldn't have been surprised—there was enough alcohol in his bloodstream to flush a man twice his size.

He gave an involuntary moan as he drank in the scent of Harry, the essence of him, really. Not unlike the outdoors after the first rain, or the spice rack in his mother's kitchen—two things that weren't remotely alike but were nevertheless simultaneously Harry.

How had this happened? How had he gotten here? He felt as though he'd driven from London to Edinburgh but didn't remember anything beyond getting into the car. He was in unfamiliar territory, discovering an alien side of himself… and he had yet to decide how he felt about it.

Harry's hips were rocking in slow, deliberate rolls against Draco's pelvis and the boy was busy kissing every inch of his sorry skin. Those wayward lips that Draco lived for were now caressing his jaw, cheek bone, brow, eyelids. It was like Harry was silently apologizing to each individual piece of his face. Draco's lips parted, a breathy sigh escaping his chest and Harry took the opportunity to kiss each of his lips, one at a time, upper, then lower.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered against Draco's mouth, his lips only _just_ grazing the blond's. "For tonight…" he continued. His words were running together just a bit and he tasted strongly of beer and liquor but it was possibly the first time he'd apologized to Draco and actually sounded completely remorseful.

With a suddenly sharp breath, Draco closed his mouth over Harry's, latching onto his lips passionately. The boy squirmed in his lap, his half-hard groin rubbing against Draco's thigh and his hands moving to grasp at a pale neck as he hunkered down into the kiss.

"Ya are, are ya?" Draco mumbled between kisses. He slid his hands down Harry's narrow back, gliding over his waist and resting on his denim-clad bottom, jerking the boy's hips forward so that they pressed more securely against his own body. "Why, Potter? Why are ya sorry?"

Harry ground into Draco with a moan. He was writhing now, intoxicated, aroused and mildly frustrated at Draco's insistence on the chastising conversation. But the authority and reprimand in his tone was exciting and his forceful hands and oppressing kisses made Harry's gut clench with desire, blood swiftly pooling in his groin. "'Cause I shouldn't 'a done tha'," Harry whispered back in a desperately aching rasp. "'Cause I told ya I wouldn't. 'Cause only you get ta kiss me, get ta fuck me with that gorgeous cock o' yers…."

"Oh, is that it then, Potter?" Despite himself, Draco almost chuckled, albeit humourlessly. "Yer sorry because if ya mess up, yer pretty little arse might not get fucked?" His fingers dug into the deliciously plump padding of Harry's rounded cheeks. When Harry dipped down for another kiss, Draco clamped the boy's lower lip between sharp teeth. His anger was mixing with arousal and its product was a vicious lust, building in aggression and neediness. He moved to Harry's jaw, scraping his teeth along the bone, then traveled down his powerful, tanned neck, biting into it with a grunt, right at the curve where it arced into a solid shoulder. "Christ, Harry, when are you going to just admit that you're fucking crazy about me?" he growled.

Harry moaned, higher than before, more of a whine. "Unngg… Okay, you…win. I…like you…a little…" He was gasping between words, Draco's mouth working his skin mercilessly. He was going to look like a leopard for the wedding tomorrow, Draco was sure of it.

"A little?" Draco challenged, his voice husky and grating. He licked up the front of Harry's perfectly smooth neck, feeling the Adam's apple bob beneath his tongue as the boy threw his head back and swallowed in anticipation. His could taste the salty evidence of anxious perspiration.

"Yess…" Harry hissed. "A little..."

The words were ironic in context of their mounting passion. With a final guttural growl, Draco bought his mouth over Harry's again, almost biting him in his need to punish the boy, to dominate him and remind him that a Malfoy wasn't a man who tolerated being pushed around. Securing his grip under the brunet's backside, Draco stood, taking Harry's weight into his arms. Harry hooked his ankles around Draco's waist and fell helplessly into his kiss as the blond carried him blindly to the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them.

~.~.~

"Ginny," Harry beamed. "You look stunning. And the ceremony was beautiful."

Draco watched as the woman glided over to Harry, grasping at the front of her long beaded dress to keep from stepping on the hem. She wrapped Harry in a warm embrace.

"It's so good to see you, Harry. It's been too long," she kissed both his cheeks and Draco's fingers twitched with the temptation to pull Harry away from her but he forced the feelings aside.

"Whose fault is that?" Harry smirked. "You abandon me here just because some foxy Scot comes along and whisks you off to the States. Terrible friend," he teased.

"I'd say she was the one who did most of the 'whisking', Potter," came a man's voice with a cheerful lilt.

Draco turned to see Wood approaching from another guest table, wearing an easy smile on his gregarious features.

"Oliver," Harry greeted him, offering his hand in a firm shake. "I trust you slept well?" There was a slight twitch of his left brow, as though it wanted to lift in amusement. Harry smiled but from the playful look in his eyes, you could tell it was more of a disguised smirk.

"Like a babe, Harry, thank you," he replied with a polite nod. His eyes cut to Draco. "I see you both made it through the night alive, then—that's an accomplishment. The twins had a wee bet goin' that you two would try to kill each other before dawn." His eyes were bright, his words half in jest, Draco could tell, but he thought he detected a concerned question what would have been asked had himself and Ginny not been there.

Harry laughed. "Of course they did—with those two, I'd be surprised if they passed up the opportunity." He caught Draco's silver gaze briefly and Draco felt him squeeze the hand he was already holding. "Yes, we made it… somehow, we always do."

His eyes were warm and Draco found he couldn't look away when Harry's gaze met his own. Yes, they did always seem to manage, despite their slightly unorthodox and less than stable 'relationship'. But how long could something so unpredictable possibly go without imploding? If it were to fail, there would be nothing to show for it, nothing left but disappointment.

"Forgive me," Harry apologized, finally breaking eye contact with Draco and turning to the bride. "I should formally introduce you. Ginny, this is my..." Again, their eyes met, as Harry hesitated in his introduction. There was a distinct sparkle in those swirling green orbs, Draco noted, and it served to ease his nerves, if only slightly. "My boyfriend," Harry finished. "Draco Malfoy."

Years of strict manners in the Malfoy household were the only thing that kept Draco's jaw from hitting the floor. His sharp intake of breath caught in his throat and he choked on it, coughing as subtly as possible into a balled fist. _His 'boyfriend'? _He fought the temptation to shove his fingers in his ears to check for reasonable proof that he'd merely heard incorrectly.

Mind racing, Draco looked to Harry in shock but the man kept his eyes on his friends. Draco then turned his attention to the Weasley girl, checking her face for a reaction to the introduction—but if she recognized the Malfoy name, she showed no signs of it.

Harry continued with the introduction. "Draco, this is Ginny Wea—Well, I suppose it's Ginny _Wood_ now?"

"Weasley-Wood," Oliver replied, affectionately wrapping an arm around Ginny's waist, looking down at her with a pleased smile. "It'd be a shame to lose her Weasley identity entirely."

Feeling Harry's careful eyes on him, Draco inclined his head towards the girl, taking her fingers and pressing a light kiss to the back of her hand. "A pleasure, my dear. Harry's right, you look breath-taking."

Ginny blushed slightly and flashed Harry an approving and impressed expression, which went unnoticed by Draco who was now shaking Oliver's hand. "Congratulations, Wood. I have to thank you both for having me here today."

Oliver smiled. "Not at all—and please, call me Oliver."

Draco simply nodded in polite response.

"We better finish making the rounds," Ginny said. "But enjoy the reception. Dinner will be starting soon and I expect to see you both out on the dance floor later," she smiled.

As the couple left, Harry leaned into Draco's shoulder in a subtle but inexplicably comforting gesture. He tilted towards the other man's ear.

"See," he said, barely above a whisper. "That wasn't so bad now, was it?"

The corners of Draco's lips twitched; he couldn't suppress a faint grin. "Yes, Potter it was lollipops and rainbows. Can we sit down now?"

Harry snickered, squeezing Draco's hand once before leading him towards their table. As they found their seats, Draco decided against bringing up the 'boyfriend' thing. This time, it had been Harry's choice to say it and Draco appreciated the implication. Plus, bringing attention to the fact that he was slowly cracking the boy's defensive walls probably wasn't the best idea. Harry was skittish enough as it was. Draco figured one wrong move and the brunet would be high tailing it out of there. Verbally acknowledging Harry's change of heart wasn't worth the risk of suddenly finding himself back at square one.

They were seated near the front of the room at a table with Ron, Fred and George, and three other men who were clearly more of the Weasley brothers. There were also two women there, whom Draco assumed were girlfriends or wives. One of them had long silver-blond hair and huge saucer-like blue eyes, looking very much like an ethereal creature. Her fine, symmetrical features were otherworldly; Draco suspected she was a model because not only was she beautiful but she was familiar and Draco was fairly certain he'd seen her before, possibly in a magazine or commercial.

The Weasley brothers were all very much alike—except for perhaps the one who introduced himself as Percy, who seemed a bit more on the pretentious side, a contrast to his boisterous brothers. Throughout dinner, Draco remained relatively quiet, chiming in when it felt appropriate or when directly addressed. The conversation was light-hearted and friendly and the blond couldn't help but grin to himself at the dynamics of the family. Much to his relief and surprise, there was no mention of his father or the supposed issues between the family patriarchs. Draco managed to catch Ron's eye once or twice and each time the red-head would offer him a fleeting and slightly timid smile in return before looking away. Something on his face suggested that he may have forewarned his brothers, asking them not to say anything about Malfoy, both for Harry's sake and in the consideration of his sister's special day.

At the touch of a hand to his thigh, Draco looked up from his food as Harry leaned in and whispered in his ear. "I think they're talking about you," he said, nodding towards the head table.

Looking over, Draco saw Hermione talking discretely with Ginny, sipping her wine and hiding her innocent grin behind the glass. As he watched them, the girls glanced his way and he made very brief eye-contact with Ginny before her amber eyes skirted away and back to Hermione, both girls giggling quietly.

Draco turned back to his plate with a small scoff. "Well, at least they don't appear to be planning my death," he noted dryly. "Unless they both have a very sick sense of humor."

"Oh, if I know those two at all, it's likely something along the lines of how beautiful our children would be," Harry said with a smirk as he jabbed a couple pieces of asparagus onto his fork.

The blond choked on a mouthful of food he'd been trying to swallow. Wincing, he dropped his fork and reached for his water glass, taking a large swig.

"Oh, don't get your knickers in a knot," Harry chuckled, eying his sputtering boyfriend. "I'm not saying it—but they're women, it's their nature. Not to mention they both have this obsession with trying to plan a square, conventional future for me."

Draco wasn't so much bothered by the words but rather surprised that they were so casually coming out of Harry Potter's mouth. And yet the fact that the mere _mention _of children didn't immediately send Draco bolting out of the room, leaving a Malfoy-shaped hole in the nearest door, created a sick feeling in his stomach. He could have sworn he'd felt a twinge of something a little less unpleasant flutter in his chest—but, no. It was impossible. Draco discarded the thought at once.

He cleared his throat. "Er, well I hate to disappoint but you might want to inform them that the physical possibility of us conceiving children is pretty narrow."

The brunet snickered again. "I'd say the chances are pretty slim, yeah."

A hand on Harry's shoulder interrupted their conversation. Both men looked up to see a thin middle-aged man with cheerful eyes and familiar vibrant red hair. His cheeks and neck were flushed, suggesting he'd already visited the bar a few times.

"Harry, ma boy," he greeted. "So sorry to interrupt your dinner, I just couldn't resist popping over. It's splendid to see you."

Harry stood, bringing the man into a swift hug. "You as well, Mr. Weasley. I've been 'round the Burrow a few times recently but you haven't been in."

Weariness threatened to consume his happy eyes, the crow's feet that framed them suddenly more prominent, but he smiled. "Ah, yes, work has been less than relaxing these days. But no matter! That's what weddings are for, yeah?"

Draco stood as Harry touched his shoulder. "Mr. Weasley, I'd like you to meet Draco Malfoy. Draco, this is Arthur Weasley."

The man took Draco's hand in an enthusiastic grip. "Young Mr. Malfoy, it's a pleasure," he said, beaming at the blond.

Draco forced a nervous smile but he tripped over his words in his surprise. "Yes—yes, of course. Likewise, sir."

Mr. Weasley placed a hand Draco's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. He leaned slightly closer to Draco and lowered his voice. "Ron's told me all about you, boy. Not to worry—the differences between your father and I are not to be a reflection on you. Any friend of Harry's is a friend of ours."

Finding himself at a loss for words, Draco just smiled at him and adjusted his jacket uncomfortably.

"Thank you, Arthur," Harry voiced in quiet gratitude.

"My pleasure, ma boy, my pleasure. Now, I won't keep you, Molly would have my head if she knew I was letting your dinners get cold." He laughed, winking at Harry. "Be sure to save room though, boys. I believe they'll be cutting the cake soon."

~.~.~

The cutlery settings clinked softly as Draco's bouncing knee vibrated against the table leg.

Harry chuckled. "Draco, would you stop that? I told you not to have that second piece of cake."

The blond tugged at Harry's jacket cuffs like an impatient toddler. "Haarryy..." he whined. "Come on, dance with me."

"Don't take this the wrong way," Harry started, licking the last of the whip cream off his fork. "But I really don't think that's a good idea, considering how we met and all. I'd rather not have you molest me in front of Ron and Ginny's entire family, not to mention Oliver's."

The pair sat alone at their table, the others all dancing or mingling at other tables. Draco certainly did attest much of his current restlessness to that second piece of cake. The first had even been a stretch. Draco rarely ate sweets, only indulging on special occasions, so he wasn't particularly used to the sugar rush. His body didn't quite know what to do with it and he found himself anxious to spend the energy... and the extra calories.

"You make it sound like I'm the inappropriate one," Draco rebutted. "You were the one who insisted that I show you I was worth your time—or have you conveniently forgotten that little detail?"

Harry smirked. "Yes, well, dancing is just a vertical expression of a horizontal feeling, after all."

The musician was being playful but Draco's hormones were doing strange things. He was so wound up that he almost felt like he needed to run around the block a few times to calm his jittery nerves. On the other hand, everything about the man sitting in front of him was eliciting more specifically excited responses... After all, there were far better ways to burn off calories than going for a jog, were there not?

Harry's eyes were bright and happy, reflecting the lights of the lavishly decorated hall, and his lips... Draco couldn't stop staring at this one fleck of chocolate icing that stuck to corner of his beautiful mouth. He would have loved nothing more than to lean forward and swipe his tongue across that pouting flesh….

Draco slipped a hand gently up Harry's thigh, letting it climb slowly. He brought his mouth to Harry's ear, preoccupied with the smooth skin and subtle spray of baby-soft hairs—he could see them lifting with his hot breaths, could see the goosebumps forming. It took all his strength not to latch on and devour him like a blood thirsty animal.

"Just one dance?" he breathed, his tone suggestive. "I know you want to…."

Despite the shiver that he swore he saw fly down the brunet's spine, Draco pulled back swiftly when Harry smacked his hand away.

"Maybe later. When they're playing something that you can't possibly turn into something sexy," he teased. "Why don't I get us a drink, yeah?"

Draco slouched back in his seat with an indignant _harrumph, _his lip pulling into a pout. He crossed his arms and nodded—if Harry was going to be holding out on him tonight then he certainly was going to need that drink.

Harry grinned, patting Draco's thigh as he got up. "Alright, I'll be back. Scotch?"

"On the rocks," he added, giving him a curt nod. An unimpressed expression creasing his delicate features, Draco watched his boyfriend turn to leave, his gaze lingering on the brilliant way the black trousers hugged the man's delectably sculpted ass. On second thought….

"Make that two, Potter!" he called after him. "And a Tequila!"

His throat tightened as Harry half-turned and flashed him that gorgeous grin, winking at him over his shoulder.

Draco groaned dramatically. Bloody hell, this was going to be a _very_ long night.

~.~.~

Harry drummed his fingers on the bar top as he waited for the bartender to come around to him. He nodded to a group of girls he recognized as friends of Ginny's. One of them was taking extra care to lean suggestively over the bar as she ordered their drinks, batting flirtatious eyelashes at the bartender. The other two were casting fascinated glances at Harry with coquettish grins, their gazes raking up and down his body when they thought he wasn't looking.

Preferring to pretend he didn't notice their unapologetic staring, he looked back over his shoulder, his eyes falling on a blond beauty, languid yet composed in the dainty white reception chair. He really was beautiful, his angular features and pastel skin somehow delicate and commanding at the same time. Even from a distance the man was striking, his dusty rose mouth shiny from the quick tongue he'd just darted out between pert lips. Draco—his boyfriend. Wow, it was going to be weird getting used to saying that again. Maybe fourteen months wasn't that long, maybe it was, it didn't really matter; either way, it was a word that had made Harry flinch both inwardly and outwardly ever since that fateful day he'd come home to a stranger in his bed. And that stranger hadn't been alone.

Michael had apologized profusely—or at least, he'd tried to—but Harry had gone into a fit of rage as soon as he'd seen his lover, naked and writhing with another man. He couldn't control himself, had no idea what to do. He'd grabbed anything within his reach, hurtling it at the wall, at Michael, at their things. Picture frames, vases, candles, books—anything and everything that sat on surfaces of the home they'd created together, the life they had built—they all became the ammo of Harry's violent crusade to destroy everything they'd owned together, just as Michael had destroyed him. He'd never felt a pain like this before. Harry had experience devastation in the past; he'd experienced grief and loss and mourning—but nothing quite like this. No, nothing had prepared him for this. Because this was no accident nor was it an uncontrollable unfortunate event; this was betrayal—a decision that had been made and a mistake that had been one hundred per cent preventable.

Harry sighed as he watched Draco twirl a dessert fork in his agile fingers. The man was persistent, if nothing else and he'd proved himself to be passionate, determined and strong. A soft grin was tugging at the corners of Harry's lips—if this relationship worked, he was willing to bet it would be hugely due to the fact that Draco was almost as stubborn and big-headed as Harry was.

The girls finally slinking away, giggling amongst themselves as they passed, Harry turned back to the counter and gave the bartender his order.

"My, Harry, you clean up real nice don't you?"

The greeting had come from behind him. Harry's heart shot to his throat and his stomach knotted as if he'd taken a solid fist to the gut. He knew that voice all too well.

_Michael_.


	16. Chapter 16

****A/N: Many Many thanks to my amazing beta sordid_humors!**

**Thought I'd throw you guys a soundtrack for this chapter: Jar of Hearts, Christina Perri**: **_you tube .com/watch?v=8v_4O44sfjM_**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the lyrics or song included in this chapter. All rights remain with Christina Perri and her producers etc etc..****

* * *

**Chapter 16**

**~.~.~  
**

_No, I can't take one more step towards you_  
_ 'Cause all that's waiting is regret_  
_ Don't you know I'm not your ghost anymore_  
_ You lost the love I loved the most_

_ I learned to live, half alive_  
_ And now you want me one more time..._

**~.~.~  
**

"_My, Harry, you clean up real nice don't you?"_

_The greeting had come from behind him. Harry's heart shot to his throat and his stomach knotted as if he'd taken a solid fist to the gut. He knew that voice all too well._

_Michael._

_Of course. _Of course he'd be here. Why wouldn't he be? He'd been a good friend of Ginny's too, after all. A tiny self-regarding voice in his head resented Ginny for never bothering to at least warn him about it, give him a little heads up, but he let the thought go. There was no one to blame here. No one… except maybe a lying, cheating son of a bitch.

"Michael," Harry forced out. He summoned every ounce of composure he had as he turned to face the dreaded voice. The name tasted vile in on his tongue. "I wish I could say the same for you."

The man chortled. "Always the snarky one. I see you haven't changed."

Michael was tall and sound-statured. He had a swimmer's body: a strong back, wide shoulders and narrow hips. But his pale brown hair was a better representation of the man that he was, the strands lying lank and dull against his head, colourless, lifeless—much like his personality.

Harry was no longer sure why he'd loved him, how he had possibly fallen so hard. He didn't understand it anymore but at the time, Michael had managed to make him feel safe, respected, loved. Admittedly, they'd both been so very young when they'd first met and that's where Harry now laid most of the blame. He'd been foolish and naïve and trusted so easily—too easily. Looking back, Harry knew for a fact that the night he'd caught Michael hadn't been the man's only betrayal. He'd been so blind at the time; in hindsight, it should have been obvious.

"I've changed a lot, actually," Harry replied stiffly. He glanced across the counter; the bartender's back was still turned away as the man busied himself at the liquor shelf. How long did it take to make a couple drinks?

"And your band has been really successful, I see." Michael completely ignored Harry's discomfort and bantered on in a light tone as if oblivious to the dark cloud of unresolved issues that hung between them; as if he'd forgotten that the last words they'd exchanged had been gut-wrenching screams, curses between broken sobs. Harry couldn't even look the man in the eye because when he did, memories of that night reflected back at him, playing like moving pictures in Michael's hazel eyes.

"Mmm," Harry hummed non-committally, relief washing over him when the bartender returned and handed him his drinks. He focused on balancing the two tumblers of Scotch in his left hand, taking the Tequila shot in his right. He turned to leave.

"Wait."

Harry physically recoiled as the hand touched his arm; the weight of it was familiar, the touch of it disturbingly habitual. He twisted away from the grasp. "Don't touch me, Michael," he growled, his voice low in warning. He in no way wanted to attract any attention the interaction between him and his ex. The last thing he needed was for Michael to cause a scene.

"Harry," Michael started softly, taking a few slow steps forward, trying to close the distance between them. Harry's desire to keep the exchange under the radar was the only reason he even allowed the man to step so close. He stood his ground, rigid and cold, glaring at Michael in loathing, not a shred of leniency or mercy in his eyes.

Michael touched Harry's arm again. The contact burned through layers of cotton and silk, setting Harry's nerves aflame.

"When are you going to stop shutting me out? We can get past this, Harry."

"No, Michael, we can't," Harry spat. "And I'm _never_ going to stop shutting you out. You're out—we're done. You closed that door yourself when you started fucking around."

The fury that was boiling beneath his composure made an appearance then, cracking his poise and Harry gestured involuntarily, sloshing drinks onto his shirt sleeve. "Shit," he muttered, placing the glasses back onto the counter with a frustrated scowl.

"That was a mistake—"

"Oh was it?" Harry interrupted scathingly, his voice rising. He could feel the heat spreading up his neck and over his cheeks. "A mistake you made over and over again, a mistake you fucked into the mattress _I _slept on at night?" He could feel the curious eyes of nearby guests—he was letting his emotions get away with him. A quick glance across the dining hall told him that Draco had yet to notice the commotion.

"It wasn't like that!" Michael argued, pressing forward. "I fucking lov—"

Harry flinched, cutting the man off. "Shut up, you idiot!" Michael was getting fairly loud as well and Harry was pretty sure that the git wouldn't have the decency to care if the whole reception heard them—more importantly, if Draco heard them.

Grabbing Michael's wrist, Harry ducked away from the bar and through the reception hall doors to their left, tugging him into the deserted hallway beyond. Once they were a safe distance from the opening, the hallway oddly quiet with only the muffled sound of music and chatter seeping through the walls, Harry spun around and turned on Michael.

"I don't want to hear it," he hissed, still feeling the need to keep his voice low in an urgent whisper. He didn't know why exactly, but he really didn't want Draco to know about Michael. It's not like he didn't plan on telling him eventually but they were on thin ice as it was—he didn't see the sense in making it any more complicated than it had to be. He… really liked Draco; he didn't want to mess things up.

"I can't be arsed about how you feel, Michael!" he continued, anger bubbling. "And why should I? It's not like you gave a damn about how I felt when you were getting your cock sucked by that vapid twink."

"I… he wasn't a twink!"

Harry let out a humourless laugh, crossing his arms and surveying Michael with a look of repulsed incredulity. "Are you fucking serious? _That's_ the argument you're making right now? Bloody hell, you're an idiot."

"Harry, I—" Michael cut himself off, evidently unsure about his next move. He stepped in, bringing a light hand to Harry's waist. Harry backed up, trying to avoid Michael's touch. It was all too familiar, too achingly, depressingly familiar. "I've missed you, Harry. We were so good together. Don't you remember? All those nights we spent in the backseat of your car, before we got our own place? All the—"

"Don't," Harry said, his voice close to cracking. His throat was dry and tight, his eyes scratchy. Michael was close to him now; their knees were almost touching. How had he gotten so close? Harry pinched his eyes shut, willing the situation to just disappear, wash away like all his other problems did when he drowned them in booze and one-offs.

"Just—don't," he repeated, his voice slightly stronger this time. "I can't do this, Michael. I _won't_ do this."

It happened before Harry had a chance to even comprehend what was happening, much less stop it. Michael's lips were also far too familiar. Familiar and terrible. His kiss was nothing like Draco's. It was mushy and listless compared to the blond's assertive and passionate mouth. He wanted nothing to do with Michael anymore and he certainly didn't want to be kissing him. He brought his hands up to push Michael away. Unfortunately, he wasn't fast enough.

"That's rich, Potter. Bring me here just to humiliate me in front of your ickle little breeder friends, is that it?"

Harry's heart caught in his throat. He tore himself away from Michael but Draco was already beginning to turn away, his striking irises meeting Harry's in an icy glare first.

"Draco, wait!" His boyfriend was already halfway down the hall, taking long, determined strides towards the exit. "Fuck," Harry muttered, moving to go after him.

"Harry, wait," Michael protested, grabbing the musician's arm again.

Harry squirmed away. "Stay the fuck away from me, Michael."

He didn't catch up with Draco until he'd rushed through the exit doors of the reception hall. The exit they'd taken had come out onto the side car park. The night was rather warm but it was raining moderately and the glow of the moon was bouncing off the top of Draco's white-blond head, creating a halo-effect.

Draco was leaning against the wall of building, head back and eyes to the starry sky. His face was expressionless, cold.

Harry slowed his pace when he saw him, approaching him hesitantly. "Draco, it's not what you think."

Draco let his eyes slide closed when Harry spoke, blowing a quick puff of air out of his nose in sceptical acknowledgement. He'd heard him coming but had nowhere to go to properly avoid him anyhow. He had realized as soon as he'd stormed out onto the car park that they'd taken Harry's car to the wedding so there would be no quick, cowardly escape. Feeling like an idiot, Draco had called a cab.

"Like you know anything about what I think, Potter," Draco drawled. He suddenly felt very tired—his body like sandbags, weighing him down, making even the formation of words a burdening task. Cool water droplets landed on his face, pattering at his skin. It was somewhat soothing and the air smelled fresh and damp.

"He kissed _me_," Harry clarified. "And had you come along just a couple seconds later you would have seen me delivering a solid right hook to his chin."

Draco said nothing. He didn't even move. _Yeah, how convenient,_ he thought. He couldn't remember ever loathing himself more. He was a sodding, pathetic nance. He'd gone and fallen for a two-faced, emotionally retarded twatter and now he was rolling in a sack of shit, miserable and betrayed. Why the fuck had he wasted his time? He should have left Potter in the dust the moment he realized the git was so socially decrepit but instead he'd allowed himself to get emotionally attached, tried to win him over, and for what? For a good lay? For love? Fuck love.

He could see Harry moving closer from the corner of his eye. "Draco, listen to me. That was Michael, my ex. He's.…"

Harry trailed off and Draco finally looked at him. "He's what, Potter?" he spat. "Your fuck-of-a-lifetime? Your long lost love? Be a man, spit it out. I can take it."

He could see Harry physically cringe at his angry words. Good. He deserved to feel awkward, to feel guilty. His brows drew downward, his eyes sliding closed—Draco recognized the way the muscles in Harry's jaw clenched, shifting as he tried to summon composure, patience. It was much like the way he looked during one of their many spats only this time there was an extra element of pain in the set of his brow, an extra sagging in his shoulders. When Harry opened his eyes again, their color was striking against the shadow of the greying skies—but there was weariness in them, as if their vibrancy, their usual glint, had been drained entirely.

Harry took a big breath. "It's complicated."

Draco scoffed. "Of course it is. Everything with you is complicated. Forget it, alright? Don't waste your fucking breath. My cab will be here in ten minutes and you'll never have to see me again. You can go back to your complicated, trashy little life. You'll be commitment-free, just like you wanted."

"No, Draco, that's not what I want." Harry's voice was strained now, the composure of his approach faltering. He reached out and tried to take Draco's hand.

"I don't care what you want, you worthless little twat!" the blond bellowed, ripping away from Harry's touch. "Get fucked, Potter—that's all you were ever concerned about anyway."

His words had stung, he could see it in Harry's eyes. He looked sad, distressed, panicked even. Draco tried to swallow the guilt that was creeping through his chest for being responsible for the pain on the musician's sweet face.

"Draco, you _have_ to believe me," Harry protested. His voice actually broke this time. "I want nothing to do with that asshole! He came on to me, I swear."

Draco glared at him through narrowed eyes. The man hadn't exactly been monogamy's biggest fan before they'd gotten together. Harry hadn't actually cheated as far as Draco was aware but was it something he'd be capable of? Draco wasn't sure. "I don't _have_ to do anything, Potter. You've been a secretive little snot since the day we met—why should I believe you now?"

"Because!" Harry threw back with a frustrated growl. He brushed his fingers through his rain soaked hair with anxious tugs, eyes darting aimlessly in his distress, before finally meeting Draco's cold gaze. "Because I'm—I'm fucking crazy about you!"

Draco just looked at him, watched his face as worry lines creased his handsome features. Harry's chest was heaving, fingers balling into fists, his green eyes sad and, yes, there it was again, vulnerable.

"I thought I was fine until you came along!" Harry pressed on, his desperate gaze unyielding. "And then I met you and realized I couldn't have been much worse. You… you piss me off, you get under my skin, but… but I feel—alive. For the first time in over a year, I feel like… I feel like I _want_ to feel again."

It seemed to downpour then, the raindrops getting heavier, more aggressive on the top of Draco's head. He shivered. Rain was dripping down his neck and into his collar; the shoulders of his shirt and cuffs of his sleeves were soaked right through, leaving cool moisture on his skin as the wet fabric clung to him. He was fleetingly grateful he wasn't wearing his jacket—at least it would be spared the marring exposure to the elements.

The rain pounded on the roofs of the cars that surrounded them and the sound thundered in Draco's ears. He stared at the growing pattern of dampness spreading over Harry's shoulders, watched the rivulets drip down his temple and track across his jaw. Stray drops lingered on Harry's nose and as Draco stared, his surroundings suddenly felt muted, as if he'd stepped underneath a stadium, the uproar of the outside world dulled to a muffled booming. But it was the faintest details that now reverberated in his head; the quiet splattering of rain hitting Harry's shoulders, the anxious shuffling of shoes on gritty pavement, the slow breaths Harry's lungs were pulling into his chest.

Draco couldn't find his voice. He could only watch an upset and fidgeting Harry, completely breaking down before his eyes. He couldn't tell if it was rain or tears that dripped down the man's cheek.

"Dray, please… I…" Harry looked away. From the way he bit his lip just then, the way he wrung his hands in a nervous gesture that Draco had never before seen him do, the way his voice sounded hoarse and begging—Draco knew it was only a matter of time before his own resolve cracked.

"What did he do to you?" he heard himself ask in a low whisper. He wasn't aware he'd been forming the question until it was already out of his mouth.

Harry's vivid eyes met his. The pain Draco found hovering behind them was heartbreaking. He didn't answer right away but his gaze seemed to bore into Draco, as if he were trying to make him understand from only a look.

"He…." That one word was drenched with regret, just like the rain-swept boy who spoke them. Harry's lips remained parted as he tried to say more but the words were lost, washed up on the wet pavement with the torn remainders of his shattered resolve. He didn't finish the thought but he didn't have to—his large full eyes said everything. _He broke me._ Draco could almost hear Harry saying it.

And with those unspoken words, Draco deflated, his stiffness easing as he took the tiniest of steps towards the defeated looking brunet. He wanted to stay angry— maybe that was the smart thing to do, the most self-preserving thing to do—but despite his brain's protests he couldn't stop his heart from going out to Harry. He couldn't control his own heart because it didn't belong to him anymore.

Harry looked so spent, so exposed standing there in the warm evening rain, soaked to the bone and shivering despite the mild temperature. It had finally happened. He'd finally unravelled. That person he'd been hiding tumbled out through those desperately sad eyes, revealing to Draco the injured soul that had lurked behind them all these weeks.

Draco reached out to touch him. His fingers grazed the wet folds of his nice jacket, just at Harry's bent elbow. He both heard and felt Harry still—his breath pausing in his chest, his arm freezing at Draco's touch. "We should get you out of the rain," he muttered, attempting to bring a certain poise into the softness of his tone. "I paid a lot for this suit."

The moment the words had left his tongue, Harry was in his arms, hands grasping at the back of Draco's shirt.

"I'm so, so, sorry, Draco," he mumbled against his chest. "I'm sorry about Michael and I'm sorry I didn't tell you.

Draco closed his arms around Harry's small frame in a protective squeeze. He brought a kiss to the top of Harry's head, lips meeting thick, sopping strands. He shushed him quietly, a hand rubbing soothing circles over Harry's back. But the soft, reassuring cooing was all Draco could muster. He didn't think there were any words appropriate for the moment. He didn't want to talk or say that he would fix everything or that Michael didn't matter anymore—all he wanted to do was stand in the torrential summer rain and hold Harry so tightly it hurt.

~.~.~

Harry's skin was damp. He was cold—cold everywhere, inside and out. He could feel the rainwater dripping down his neck. He wanted his bed, his warm, comfortable bed, but there were these lips, these scorching, caressing lips, all over his body. They were better than any bed, warmer than any blanket.

Draco was peeling off his shirt and it was rolling away like it had been a layer of skin—so wet and cold and clingy. Harry shivered, and yet somehow he felt heat rising from his stomach. He was sitting on the kitchen counter, legs wrapped around Draco's narrow hips, the blond tending to his soaked condition.

The kettle was on the stove; Harry had wanted tea to help warm him up before bed and as he hiked himself up onto the counter, feet swinging like a ten year old kid, Draco had insisted on getting him out of his sopping clothes.

"S'fine, Dray, really," Harry had protested. But Draco had ignored him, muttering about senselessness and obstinacy and now he was rubbing warm palms over Harry's shivering skin, his lips reaching everywhere his hands did, not a moment later.

"Mmmm…" Harry was tired—so tired. And Draco's touches felt so delightfully warm. "What 'bout you?" he muttered. "Yer wet too."

As his only reply, Draco started to unbutton his own wet dress shirt, still nesting himself between Harry's legs, nuzzling the boy's neck and ear.

Harry sighed, filled with the strange combination of guilt and serenity—oh, and of course an acute amount of dizziness, the loving gift from his thirty minute drinking binge.

They hadn't stayed for the rest of the reception. Harry had insisted on going back in, trying to stick it out for Ginny's sake, despite their sodden suits and dripping hair. Needless to say, they were getting some pretty strange looks. Ginny had forced at least a portion of the story out of Harry and then she too had tried to get them to take off. But Harry had refused, at least for the first half an hour or so, all of which he spent drinking and trying to get Draco to do the same. When they'd finally left, it was mostly because he'd gotten groggy enough for Draco to be able to boss him around.

"I'm sorry," he kept whispering. "I'm sorry, Dray. I shoulda… shoulda…."

"Stop apologizing, Potter," Draco muttered, lips warm and soft against Harry's shoulder. Draco's bare chest was against his own now and it was invigorating. Harry clung to him, craving the heat and the smooth glide of Draco's silky skin.

He shouldn't have had that third shot of Tequila. Especially considering the double rum and cokes he'd thrown back just before. But he'd felt as though he'd ripped off a giant scab and was now faced with the stinging, bleeding pain he'd been running from. The liquor had soothed his firing nerves but had caused his head to spin and the more he drank, the guiltier he felt. What had happened to him? He was a despicable jerk-off. Flitting around like a complete whore, messing with people's heads—Draco's head. He'd fended the blond off for so long—not unlike the many others that had come before him—he'd been inconsistent and confusing. And now he wished he could take it all back. He wished he could take everything back—four years' worth of everything, down to his very first kiss with Michael.

He was a self-loathing mess in a downward spiral and for some reason this remarkable blond is what made him finally see that. He wanted to go back to the way things were, when he was happy, respectable, exuberant—when he wasn't an emotional wreck and an embarrassment to his friends and to himself.

His hands were tangled in platinum strands now and the man was kissing him; kissing him heatedly and with so much affection. It was troubling because Harry almost felt like he didn't deserve it but it was soothing at the same time—more soothing than the liquor had been.

Harry was trembling in Draco's hands and the blond pressed himself as firmly to the boy as he could, trying to warm him, comfort him. He was seeing so much of the musician tonight, so much he'd never seen before—a sadness, a vulnerability, a hurting person the man had tucked away so efficiently, so convincingly. The alcohol wasn't helping. Draco was beginning to notice a pattern; Harry apologized a lot when he drank, as though that was the only time his structure of negligence crumbled. Alcohol was poison to his self-assured fortress; it seeped through the cracks and infiltrated his act, revealing the defeated soldier on the inside.

Draco drew Harry's soft earlobe into his mouth—even the smaller man's _ears _were cold. Staying at the wedding, even for the short time period that they had, had been a mistake. They didn't see Michael again after they went inside. Draco assumed he'd bailed, which was a good choice on his part because Draco was more than ready to punch the twatter's face in, regardless of the occasion and the room full of guests.

A soft moan dribbled from Harry's lips. The boy was swaying, alcohol and weariness inebriating him. Draco ran a hand over Harry's wet neck, impeding some of the droplets rolling from his hair. He was lost in the scent of him, the sweet fragrance that rose from his damp skin and reverberated from his humming chest. Draco couldn't stop touching the boy, couldn't remove himself from the crevice of Harry's divine neck and transcendent shoulder—he was warm now and smelled like the summer rain they'd been standing in. The kettle started whistling but Draco barely heard it, caught up in the teetering mess of Harry, his Harry.

"Gods, Harry, I love you." The words came out before he could stop himself. They spilled from his adoring lips like the cool current of a light forest spring: simple, organic… and inevitable. Draco winced, nose still pressing to Harry's temple, and fought the urge to curse himself. So he'd managed to hold out, what? A month? He supposed that wasn't completely deplorable.

He felt Harry's abrupt tension, heard the halting breath catch in his bare, golden chest. With a sigh, Draco pulled back to gaze into those predictably surprised emerald eyes. As Harry opened his mouth to say something, Draco only shook his head to silence him.

"Don't say anything. I don't need you to say anything, Harry." He let his thumbs trace soft paths in Harry's upper arms as he held the boy at arm's length in a gentle grip. "I know it's crazy. Balls—I'm bleedin' cracked; I haven't a doubt about that. But be that as it may, it appears to be true so I suppose it's better that you know."

The corners of Harry's emotive eyes seemed to turn down as if saddening but after holding Draco's silver stare for a few static moments, he launched himself forward, taking Draco's lips into that honeyed mouth of his in a heart-felt kiss.

This time it was Draco's turn to feel as though Harry was pouring his soul into their embrace , saying everything he possibly could without words. He didn't have it in him to verbalize anything, wasn't ready for it, and that didn't surprise Draco in the slightest—in fact, he was just grateful that the brunet wasn't giving him the boot for even expressing the sentiment, that he wasn't shoving him away and promptly kicking him out into the rain.

As Harry's lips crashed against his own, Draco immediately pressed forward, bringing his long torso flush against the smaller man's, his hands digging into his thicket of unruly dark strands. He met Harry's eager tongue with a wave a relief, suddenly needing more of him, all of him, needing to drink him in, from his sugary filling to his bitter, tarnished coating. The kettle was still whistling but the shrillness of it wasn't enough to drown out the sound of Draco's thundering heart and roaring pulse.

Harry moaned again but there was a touch of petulance to the sound. When he spoke it was a mere mumble against Draco's lips, as if objecting to his own attempt to leave them. "S'loud," he slurred. Draco all but ignored him, refusing to acknowledge anything that required him to abandon Harry's intoxicating, pillowed lips.

"Ugh, Draco," Harry muttered again, his words echoing in the caverns of Draco's persistent mouth. "Get it. S'annoying."

Draco begrudgingly pulled away with a heavy sigh, lifting the kettle off the burner and turning it off. He pulled two mugs from the cabinets above the stove and plucked two tea bags from the canister on the counter, pouring the boiling water over them and into the cups. He said nothing at all—he preferred the silence. There was little to say anyway, little that hadn't already been said.

With a small spoon, Draco dunked the teabag further into Harry's cup, swirling it around then handing the drink off to the brunet, being careful not to let go before he was positive the boy's fumbling fingers had a good grasp.

"Thanks," Harry mumbled, blowing at the surface before sipping the hot liquid.

Draco only nodded, sipping from his own cup as he watched Harry nurse his tea. His large round eyes were drooping and foggy, his drunken haze veiling his vision as though he wasn't actually seeing most of what was in front of him. He gazed off into space, taking occasional, absentminded sips of his tea.

They didn't speak and Draco leaned against the counter across from his boyfriend, drinking from his own mug, eyes never once leaving the musician. Harry's dark wet hair was sticking out in every direction, his shoulders slumped as if too tired to even hold himself up—the night had been draining for him, both physically and emotionally, and Draco could see the clear evidence of that.

There were only the dregs of lukewarm water left in Draco's cup by the time Harry spoke. "I… hafta go to bed."

Draco put his cup down and taking a step forward, gently took the half empty mug from Harry's tired fingers, setting it aside. He slowly brought his lips to Harry's, very carefully hooking fingers into the boy's belt loops and tugging him forward to slip off the counter. As the brunet dropped the short distance to the floor, their mouths were forced to part and Draco instead brought a kiss to Harry's warm temple.

"Alright, love. Let's go," he whispered.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N:** **Firstly, I'd like to apologize for the delay on the chapter! But I have been doing pretty well keeping on schedule, so hopefully you can all forgive me this once! :) We're are swiftly approaching the end here, folks. Only 2 more instalments to go! Thanks to everyone who's been a supportive reader to me throughout the process, and hopefully once it's no longer a WIP, it will be less scary to those of you out there who steer clear of them, lol. **

**Very importantly, all the best love vibes go out to my beta sordid_humor who makes time for me and my fandomness, even when there is so much else that is so much more important :)**

**Chapter 17**

Shafts of warm sunlight cut through the blinds of Draco's bedroom, casting a yellow glow onto Harry's naked skin. He was a dash of caramel against the fluffy white backdrop of the comforter as he lay sprawled on his stomach, an impish grin on his fresh features. Draco couldn't help but admire his beauty.

A few weeks had passed and they were having a tremendously lazy Sunday, waking up late in the morning for a fervent shag then remaining in bed for hours afterwards, carelessly letting the time pass, dozing in and out between playful chatter and leisurely kisses.

Draco gave a sharp swat to the taut cheek of Harry's sculpted bare backside. The brunet's chest rumbled in that delightfully low, beguiling chuckle, amused by his easily wound-up boyfriend. "Seriously, where's my breakfast?" Harry continued to tease. "Get on it, Malfoy."

Draco heaved a dramatic sigh. "Christ, a few nice gestures and I've gone and turned you into a spoiled brat."

Harry snorted, glancing at the floor where his phone had started vibrating from the pile of discarded clothes. "Why, you surprise me, Draco. Wouldn't you say I've always been a spoiled brat? " He smirked, reaching for his phone and kicking away Draco's arm that was swinging for another playful strike.

Pressing the button to answer the call, Harry held his phone to his ear, still laughing lightly. "Hullo?"

Draco watched him, eyes sparkling. The brunet's grin was lingering on his face, his jade eyes still dancing with amusement but after a moment or two of silence, thick brows drew together, his smile turning hesitant and perplexed.

"I—well, yes of course…" Harry was saying. The brunet slowly sat up, his straightening posture suggesting his attempt to focus.

Draco's eyes narrowed as he strained to hear the voice on the other end, which was indiscernible—but from the higher register of the tinny sound coming from the phone speaker, Draco suspected it was a woman.

"He did? Wow—yes, I'd love to. But we won't have a bass player come September—oh? ...Well, alright then… mhmm… mhmm… I will… great, okay… thank you so much… talk to you then."

When he hung up the phone, Harry slowly turned his dumbfounded gaze to a waiting Draco, who had one pale eyebrow cocked in curious anticipation.

"Well? Care to explain what that was all about?" Draco prodded, trying to read Harry's stunned features.

"I…" Harry stammered, clearly still in shock but a small smile was prodding its way back onto his face. "That was a woman named Luna Lovegood, calling from Rhythm Records. Apparently Ron's been sending her demos without telling me."

Draco frowned. "Why would he do that?"

Harry shook his head, still a little baffled. "I have no idea. We knew her in school—Ron must have found out where she was working and sent our stuff her way. To be honest, I've been kind of cynical about the whole record label thing—that's probably why he didn't tell me. We've been doing well for ourselves and, well, with Hermione dropping in the fall, I figured it was best to leave well enough alone."

Draco shook his head, feeling as though he was missing something—missing a lot of somethings in fact. "Back up there, Potter. What do you mean Granger is dropping?"

"Hermione is going to University to get her PGCE, but—"

"Her what?"

"A certificate in education. She wants to become a teacher. So we didn't really know what would happen to Wandless Magic when she went back to school—we've talked about it briefly but we hadn't come to any sort of decision."

"So… what did Lovegood have to say?"

Harry's grin broadened. "She—she wants to release a single with us—said if it got a good enough response, she'd find us a replacement bassist and sign us to produce an album."

"Are you serious?" This time both of Draco's brows lifted. He was genuinely impressed—Weasley had actually made a beneficial decision.

Harry only nodded, as if barely able to believe the news himself. Possibilities and questions seemed to flash in his otherwise preoccupied eyes—would they be successful? What changes would come with it if they were? Draco wondered that too.

But he nodded his approval, offering his boyfriend a congratulatory smile. "Harry, that's brilliant!" he said. He felt genuinely happy for the man. Harry worked so hard and was so talented—he deserved the recognition. "So, what now?"

"The company's based out of Manchester," Harry replied. He looked at Draco but there was a distinct absence of presence behind his eyes as his brain scrambled to catch up with the recent news. "We have to meet her there on Monday."

Draco attempted, rather unsuccessfully, to disguise his sneer. "Manchester?" What good could possibly come out of that scummy rat-hole of a city? The disgust on his face was quite clear.

"What?" Harry asked, smirking slightly at Draco's features pinching as if he smelled something sour. "What's wrong with Manchester?"

"What _isn't_ wrong with Manchester?" Draco jeered. "It's positively riddled with chavs, firstly."

"And?" Harry pressed. He couldn't help but enjoy the irritated discomfort it was causing the refined Malfoy Prince. Playing ignorant to the sub-standard ailments of Manchester was an effective way to ruffle the blond's aristocratic feathers—plus, the entertainment value was just too good to pass up. Harry bit the corner of his lip to prevent his amused smile from splitting his features.

Draco scoffed, a contemptuous sound of his superiority. "That's plenty reason enough, Potter."

Harry chuckled, crawling up to lie on his side beside his boyfriend, trailing fingers down Draco's long, willowy thighs. "Well, don't worry princess," he teased. "It's not like you have to come with me."

"Thank God for that," Draco muttered, rolling his eyes to avoid letting his gaze follow the movements of Harry's tantalizing touches. "You wouldn't be able to keep your paws off me and the street urchins would beat you to a pulp, that much is certain."

"_I'd_ be beaten?" Harry inquired with a shocked laugh. "What about you?"

The blond gave a snort, as if the answer were obvious. "Me? I'd be helping them, of course. The most effective defense against an enemy is to feign their beliefs and claim membership to the group, Harry."

The brunet's hand was now skimming across Draco's creamy chest as the smaller man propped himself up on an elbow and rested his head in his palm. There was a devilish glint in his eyes and his biting teeth did a crummy job at containing his smirk. He was absolutely adorable: that pink lip pulling into his mouth—a fleshy mantle over a row of pearly whites—those subtle dimples pressing into the boy's cheeks.

"What, don't think I'd do it?" Draco simpered. "Survival of the shrewdest, Potter."

Harry gave free reign to the mischievous grin that found his lips. He leaned in to whisper in Draco's ear, his breath sending shivers racing down the blond's spine. "The only way I'll ever let ya pummel me, Malfoy, is with yer dick."

Draco's lids slid shut and he half moaned, half chuckled in response. "That an invitation?"

"No," Harry muttered back. His voice was low and rasping. It made Draco's hormones spike. "That's an order."

How was it possible to feel so damn aroused in so little time? It was a strain for Draco to even remember a time that he _wasn't_ turned on when Harry was simply in the room, never mind when he was stroking Draco's thigh, breathing down his neck, whispering sexual nothings in his ear…. Even after exhausting consecutive orgasms—his cock left feeling weary and limp, his body gasping and sated—Draco's erection was never far away. It may be off taking a quick smoke break, maybe slamming back an espresso but it would be back; it always was—and when it returned, it came back full force, re-energized and ready and raring for another solid day's work.

It was clear to him now that he'd gone mad. Harry Fucking Potter had driven him to an insanity where Draco's cock was personified and drinking espressos.

Fortunately, Harry had no qualms about being sore for days—he'd fuck for hours and if he then had to temporarily take his arse out of commission, so be it. There were plenty of ways around that impediment. Harry was a machine—a bottomless pit of energy. He'd get up running—literally, he worked out a couple times a day—be a bounding, active whirlwind on stage for his performances, then be up till dawn screaming himself hoarse while he begged for Draco's cock. Keeping up with him required a source of energy that Draco didn't know he had—but apparently it was there, because Harry ignited in him a fire that could burn on a perpetual plain; it didn't biologically make much sense but the pair of them were proof that love, sex and logic rarely worked in tandem. Draco had never been so grateful for his youth; he had a feeling this much stimulation and physical exertion was strenuous enough to induce a stroke.

Harry was stroking the blond's inner thigh, where Draco's tired cock was slowly showing signs of life. Draco jolted when two fingers grazed over his gradually tightening balls and Harry leaned in to nip at his earlobe. "So, you gonna fuck me, Malfoy? Punish me like a chav does a spoiled brat like me?" His low, throaty voice in Draco's ear was rendering the blond paralyzed with intensifying lust. "Pound me till I cry mercy? Till I scream for—"

Lurching forward, Draco silenced Harry with a violent kiss, plunging an eager tongue into that sweet, filthy mouth until he was sure Harry was likely suffocating. But it didn't matter—all that mattered was taking the boy in every way possible, drinking him in for all he was worth. He grabbed Harry around the neck, rolling over on top of that compact frame and pinning it beneath him.

Harry gave a delicious little moan when Draco's cock slid against the crack of his ass as the blond pressed into him, teasing. Harry was rock hard already; Draco was getting there. And apparently Harry had worked himself up rather quickly because he was rutting against Draco's pelvis in desperate jerks. Draco was familiar with this side of Harry—it was a side that came out rather often and wanted nothing more than to be fucked until he couldn't breathe, until his brains were coming out his ears. The blond suspected it had a lot to do with the boy's coping mechanisms over the past year but Draco wasn't going to complain, nor was he going to deprive him of what he wanted.

He fed Harry's fire with lustful bites to his lips, his neck, his hardened nipples, the brunet groaning and arching into every toothy grind. Draco left bruised trails down to Harry's lower stomach, skirting torturously around the man's thick red cock, nipping instead at his hips and thighs. When he blew cool breath over the deep purple head of Harry's erection, taking the quickest of swipes across the leaking slit, Harry groaned in need and frustration.

"Jesus—Fuck!" His fingers raked through white-blond strands, gripping furiously. "Fuck me, Draco!"

The blond licked at Harry's cock like a child with a particularly scrumptious lolly, never actually closing his mouth over it and successfully driving his writhing boyfriend crazy with begging moans. He chuckled and slid a hand up to Harry's lips to shove two fingers in the boy's hot mouth.

"Patience is a virtue," he breathed as Harry sucked on his fingers with enthusiastic twirls of his tongue. He even moaned when Draco retrieved his hand, fingers escaping Harry's lips with a satisfying _pop._

But Draco didn't have too much patience himself. Claiming Harry's impressive girth with his mouth, Draco plunged a saliva-slicked finger passed the ring of muscle of his boyfriend's puckered hole. Harry gasped in surprise at the sudden stimulation and tightened his already eye-watering grip in Draco's hair. He hissed as Draco didn't hesitate to press in a second finger to join the first, scissoring them a moment or two before thrusting in and out. Draco could feel the friction of his not-quite-lubed digits rubbing against Harry's flesh and although the brunet was panting in heavy, pleasured gasps, Draco withdrew to reach for the bedside table.

As he grabbed a condom and a bottle of lube, Harry scrambled to his knees, leaning forward onto his elbows, ass in the air, anxious and waiting.

Draco smirked. "A tad impatient, aren'chya, Potter?"

Harry didn't reply. Watching the boy's sleek back rise and fall with each of his quick breaths, Draco rolled on the condom, pinching the tip of the latex. Tossing the wrapper aside, he flicked open the bottle of lube and coated three fingers of his right hand. With a wet finger, Draco circled around Harry's entrance a couple times before urging all three digits inside with a forceful push.

"Ah! Yesss…." Harry moaned into the pillow he was gripping, his body tensing and leaning into Draco's hand, begging for more.

Draco couldn't help but lick his lips at the sight of Harry unravelled and keening in visceral lust. He plunged his fingers in and out of Harry's tight hole, anxious to keep those delicious sounds spilling from the boy's bitten lips. "Ya like tha', Potter?" Draco teased in a breathy mumble, his voice dripping with desire.

Harry actually growled. "I'd like it a hell of a lot more if it was yer cock, Malfoy." He pushed back against Draco's hand again. "Do it, Draco…" he bit out through clenched teeth. "Fuck me!"

Harry was one of the few people Draco was willing to take orders from and the blond obeyed this particular command with an almost manic haste, slicking his cock with extra lube and shoving into Harry with an impatient thrust. He had to bite his tongue when all nine inches of his aching prick was sheathed inside Harry's impossibly tight heat, the combination of the unbelievable pressure and the brunet's wild grunts threatening to undo Draco completely.

He remained still for only a moment; then, clutching forcefully at Harry's arse, fingers stabbing into the boy's soft, taut skin, he pulled back and then pitched forward again, settling into a sharp, hurried rhythm. Harry's arse slapped loudly against his hips and Draco drove into the boy, feeling as though he was gaining speed and power with every one of Harry's pleasured cries. He raked a hand up Harry's back, fingers following the trail of the fantastic dip of the man's spine where faint pools of sweat collected.

"Fuck, Harry—" Draco curled fingers into thick black locks and tugged, wrenching Harry's head back and forcing the man up off his elbows to rest on his hands instead. "Punishment enough for ya, ya filthy slut?" he spat out.

"Oh Gods," Harry muttered in a gravelly whisper. Draco pulled back on his hair even harder, Harry's neck angling back sharply. He could feel his skin going pink where it was slapping brutally against Harry's backside.

"Mine," he managed to rasp out, his chest clutching for air.

Harry moaned, grunting with each of Draco's impaling thrusts. "Yesss…" he hissed back.

"Say it, Harry!" Draco snapped, his hand that was not already in the brunet's hair moving to grasp at Harry's flexed shoulder. "Tell me yer mine! I wanna hear ya say it."

Harry gasped as Draco paused his consistent rhythm to deliver a powerful stab against the brunet's prostate. "Unnggg… fuck! I'm yours, Draco!" Another drilling thrust. "Ahhh! Oh Gods, yes! More…" he gasped. "More…"

Letting out a carnal growl, Draco snaked an arm around Harry's waist, sitting back onto his haunches and pulling the smaller man with him, so the brunet was seated on his lap. Draco gasped at the new angle and threw his head back, tightening his grasp around Harry's hot, heaving body. The boy's moaning and hard, heavy breath was driving Draco wild—he loved what he did to Harry even more than he loved what Harry did to him. He bit down onto Harry's gorgeous, golden neck, scoring the skin from his ear all the way down to his shoulder before throwing an arm out behind himself, leaning back onto his hand and snapping his hips upwards to drive even further into Harry's sweet arse.

Harry let out a strangled cry.

"Christ!" Draco cursed, biting his own lip. Harry felt too good—too good for words, too good for it to be real. "Tha' what ya wanted? Deep enough for ya, Wonder Boy?"

"Ungg, yes… Gods, Draco..." Harry whispered, rolling his hips to meet Draco's slow, deep thrusting. Wanting more weight, more pressure, he slowly lifted himself off of his boyfriend's cock only to drop back down. Hard. Draco wailed. With gravity working in his favour, Harry repeated the action, lifting slowly and dropping briskly, in a tormenting and sluggish rhythm, sensual and gruelling. Draco was so deep—so deep inside Harry's clenching walls and the blond could feel his own body start to tighten. It started in his fingers and toes, that buzzing, tingling sensation. Then it was in his gut and his groin and his balls were pulling up into his body. He was being propelled forward at an alarming rate and in an effort to take control—to ride it out, to be there, pressed firmly into Harry's back where he could feel his pulse, hear his heartbeat, taste his sweat—Draco leaned forward again and wrapped his arms around the brunet. Pressing his nose and lips into Harry's smooth locks, he sucked in deep, greedy breaths, his hips thrusting to meet Harry's movements in unrestrained spasms as if his muscles were working completely independent from his brain. Draco's body was taking over in urgent, animal instinct and he was panting, grunting, whining, by the time he exploded into Harry, his body giving a violent, consuming shudder.

He kept moving—for as long as he could, he thrust his trembling cock against Harry's prostate, riding out his orgasm and getting Harry closer to his. Not too far behind, the musician's muscles clenched over Draco's spent prick, just as the blond thought he might pass out from the extended stimulation. Harry came in jetting streams, cursing loudly, his movements coming to an abrupt halt as his breath hitched in his chest unexpectedly and he all but chocked on the air. A hand flew to grip the back of Draco's neck, fisting in his hair as Harry twisted to meet Draco's mouth as he came all over the sheets.

Harry tensed as his climax rolled through him and then went limp in Draco's arms, overrun with lethargy. He was sucking in gasping breaths, his firm stomach surging against Draco's tight grasp. Draco dropped his head to Harry's shoulder, his vision swimming and blurring at the edges. Closing his eyes, he pressed his lips to the tanned skin of his boyfriend's shoulder. He wanted to lie down, collapse into the mattress, but he didn't want to relinquish his grasp on the sated boy in his arms; he could easily stay where he was forever, with the trembling boy sitting heavy and sweaty in his lap. He was losing feeling in his feet but that was of no great concern.

It was to his great disappointment when Harry finally leaned forward, slipping out of Draco's arms and nestling face down in the ruffled and damp sheets. Taking the opportunity to stretch his cramped limbs, Draco followed, rolling over onto his back with a sigh, his heartbeat pounding loudly in his ears.

"How long do you think you'll be gone for?" Draco asked the ceiling after a few silent minutes. He told himself it was because he was too damn exhausted to even turn his head but the truth was he didn't want to risk Harry seeing the disquiet in his eyes.

"A week," Harry mumbled into his pillow. "Maybe two."

Draco let the silence pass between them. Harry was falling asleep—again—and he couldn't think of anything to say about the musician's upcoming absence that wouldn't reveal his irrational feelings of angst towards the subject. When it came to Potter, keeping his dignity intact was a remarkable challenge.

His eyes immediately narrowed, glaring at the back of Harry's turned head when the man snickered lightly.

"What?" Draco sneered. The fact that Potter always seemed to be laughing at him was bruising on his ego.

Surprisingly, Harry pushed himself up to all fours, dropping a quick peck to Draco's lips before slipping out of bed. "Stop trying so hard—you'll hurt yourself," he said, throwing the blond a smirk as he searched the bedroom floor for his pants.

"What in heaven's name are you talking about?"

"You're trying so hard to be apathetic I can practically hear your ego inflating." Finding his pants, Harry stepped into them, eyes lingering back up to the blond on the bed, amused by the indignant expression on those Aryan features. "Yer gonna miss me, ya git."

Draco cocked a regal brow. "Well you would know, wouldn't you? You were the expert on apathy the first few miserable weeks I knew you."

Harry snorted. "Miserable, hey? My arse begs to differ."

"You let me fuck you," Draco clarified rather flatly, though his eyes were full of life. "Doesn't mean you didn't find other ways to make me suffer. I swear to God, the hoops I had to jump through…."

Harry's immensely satisfied grin suggested he still took a sick sort of pleasure in Draco's "suffering"—or maybe he just found his belly-aching amusing.

"Whatever, Malfoy. You're gonna miss me. And I'm sure I'll never hear the end of it."

"Get over yourself, you twat. Malfoys don't miss people." His father had always made that very clear; moping was a futile—like the majority of emotions, according to Lucius Malfoy—and would change nothing. "What I will miss is the regular shagging."

Harry just shook his head and Draco resented the boy's unconvinced smirk.

He resented him even more, however, when approximately five days after Harry's departure, Draco was already feeling significantly restless.

The days positively dragged by and no matter how much coffee he consumed, it was never enough to lift his mood, nor did it help his prickly and agitated demeanour. At work he was distracted and at home he was tense. Blaise's smart-ass comments came to a screeching halt after an irritable Draco nearly bit his head off for taking the TV remote; eventually, Blaise learned to avoid speaking to the blond almost entirely.

It didn't help the situation that Harry had been rather flippant when they'd said their goodbyes. Draco had driven him, Weasley and Granger to the train station and when they were pulling their stuff from the car, Harry had given Draco a hasty peck on lips, hiking his guitar case onto his shoulder and uttering a quick 'I'll call you'. And with that, he was gone.

But he hadn't called. Not for the first few days anyway and Draco was too stubborn to contact Harry himself. If Harry wanted to talk, he'd call. If he didn't because he was busy and Draco was low on his list of priorities—well, what else was new?

When Harry finally did call, on the evening of his fifth day away, Draco wasn't the only one relieved to see his name on the call display.

"It's Harry," he muttered, almost too surprised to fully comprehend what he was seeing.

From beside him on the sofa, Blaise disguised his snicker with an over-dramatized sigh of relief. "Thank Christ," he muttered. "I don't know how much more Prima Donna Malfoy I could have handled."

Draco scarcely acknowledged the comment, glancing at Blaise only briefly before flipping open his phone.

"I was beginning to think you'd really been mugged, Potter."

He heard Harry's soft chuckle on the other end of the line. "Sorry. It's been really busy. We—"

"It's alright, I understand," Draco interrupted, his drawl dripping with disdain. "You're a star now—of course you're too busy to take five minutes to make a phone call."

"I really am sorry, Draco. I meant to call sooner it's just—"

"For all I knew, you could have been dead. If some ruffian had put a gun to your head, God knows Granger and Weasley would be positively useless protection."

Harry sighed—calmly, but the light-hearted amusement in his tone was gone. "Now you're just being dramatic. If you were so worried, why didn't you just try to call me?"

"I wasn't worried, Potter," he spat. "It's the principle of the matter. Clearly you can't be bothered to consider other people's concerns." It was a thin argument, even he knew that, and so it was with tenacious determination that he ignored Blaise's sceptical glance his way.

There was a bit of a pause before Harry spoke again. "…I told you you'd miss me."

Draco was a little too quick with his denial to be convincing. "I know your underdeveloped self is under the impression that everything is a matter of the heart but believe me, Potter, I'd just prefer that my boyfriend have at least some semblance of common courtesy."

"Uh-huh."

Harry saw right through him. Big surprise there.

"Are you quite finished then? Or do you not care for an update?" Harry didn't sound angry—more bored, if anything.

Draco said nothing, aware of how transparent he was, but his pride preventing him from admitting it.

Taking Draco's silence for an answer, Harry continued. "We're making good progress, actually. Looks like we'll be able to come home by Thursday or so."

"Thursday?" Draco swallowed hard against the lump that emerged in his throat. That left another long, dull weekend and four more distracted days of work.

"Yeah, sorry."

Ignoring the sinking in his chest, Draco pressed on. "So… it's going well then?"

"Very well," Harry replied. "Luna's introduced us to a handful of agents within the company and we've gotten lots of good feedback about our demos. We recorded our first song today, actually. We spent all day on it and they asked us to try our hand at a few more while they've got us up here."

"That's good news then. Sounds like you and your mates have this one in the bag."

"Oh, well, I don't know. We'll have to wait and see. Nothing's definite until it proves successful in sales. A handful of company members is one thing; getting positive response from some sort of tangible audience… well, that's something else entirely."

Blaise, who was sprawled on the sofa with his legs up, was quite suddenly poking at Draco's thigh with his foot. The blond shot him an irritated glance, lip curling at the dirty socks as he waved them away and scooted over.

"Well, take it to where you already have an audience—where your fans worship the bloody ground you walk on and girls throw their knickers at you." Draco rolled his eyes. He'd gotten quite used to fending off the hovering wenches… politely when Harry was watching, and basically telling them where to shove it when he wasn't.

"The Room of Requirement—yeah I know. I've already mentioned that to Luna. She's setting up an EP release event with them.

Blaise had stretched to his full length to prod at Draco again. His toes were digging into the blond's thigh and when that didn't get him the acknowledgement he wanted, he leaned forward and whacked Draco's shoulder.

Draco jumped in surprise, snarling at him. "Hang on a sec, Harry."

He tilted the mouthpiece of his phone out of the way and turned his attention to his pestering child-of-a-roommate. "_What, _Blaise?" he spat.

"I want to talk to him."

Draco blinked a few times. "What?"

"I want to talk to him."

The blond let out an exasperated sigh. "I heard you, Zabini. But why?"

"What? I can't talk to Potter?" Blaise threw back. "We've swapped spit; surely that qualifies as friendly enough for a short chat on the phone."

Resisting the urge to spit colourful and well-deserved profanities at his friend for the unappreciated low-blow, Draco rolled his eyes and spoke into the phone.

"Harry, I'm sorry but there's a chimp in my apartment and if I don't let him speak with you he may start throwing feces."

Blaise scoffed and Draco tossed him the phone, the sound of Harry's laughter faintly detectable in the quiet room.

Catching the cell with a swift left hand, Blaise held it to his ear. "Listen, Potter and listen good, because I'm only going to say this once."

Silence.

"Are you listening?"

"Yes, Blaise, I'm listening."

"Good. If you _ever_ molest me like that again, I will personally sever each of your testicles and donate them to the driving range.

"Ew, Blaise—"

"I'm not finished yet," Blaise interjected. "Then, I will take a Slap Chop to your dick, wrap up the pieces and hand them out like Tootsie rolls to children on the street. Capeesh?"

Draco gapped at Blaise in horror. "Ah! Zabini, what in hell's name—?"

But Blaise just held a hand up to silence him.

"Um, Blaise, that's about a hundred different kinds of disturbing," came Harry's calm reply.

"I know. And so was your tongue in my mouth. So from now on, we maintain a comfortable two foot working distance between us at all times. And no more gay jokes," he added. "And no more sex screaming when I'm in the next room. Save the explosive dirty talk for your own flat, yeah?"

"Why, Blaise? Are you uncomfortable with how hard you get listening to Draco fuck me? Embarrassed when you jack off to my moaning? No need, Blaise, I understand. It's hard being a closet poof."

Blaise fell completely silent, his face an image of livid petulance. He sat there seething for a long moment and Draco could hear Harry chuckling on the other end of the line.

"You're never going to tire of that, are you?" Blaise muttered dryly.

"Nope."

"Alrighty then."

Next thing he knew, Draco's mobile was being shoved in his face and he took it with a smirk, enjoying Blaise's indignant huff as the man sat back, crossing his arms and glowering at the phone.

"Your boyfriend's an ass," Blaise muttered.

Draco snorted. "Oh, trust me, I know," he drawled before bringing the phone to his ear. "Harry, you should see Blaise's face, he—"

"Sorry, Draco, I have to run. We'll talk soon, yeah?" He hung up before Draco had the chance to make any sort of response.

Draco closed the phone, glaring at it sourly as he placed it on the coffee table, trying his best not to look put out but failing miserably. He sat back into the couch with a sigh, pretending that Harry's carelessness concerning their lack of contact didn't bother him as much as it did.

He glanced up at Blaise, his expression withering, but Blaise only shrugged, tongue in cheek, lips pursed, as if to say "don't look at me, he's _your_ boyfriend."

Yes, he was—and it was he, Harry, who had managed to leave both men on the couch feeling rather snappish. Harry had a knack for staging his thinly-veiled ego as charm and as a consequence had flocking admirers coming out his ears. He had all of them fooled to believe he wasn't the world's most maddening, unpredictable git, but rather an exuberant boy who didn't know any better. It was a talent, really.

* * *

**A/N: So that's it for this week guys! Sorry again about the wait, but I hope it was worth it! I will try extra hard to be on time for next week! Love you all!**

**xoxo WrittenMatrix**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Okay people, here it is, the last chapter before the epilogue. It's quite short but I think you will be pleased with it. Epilogue is already beta'd, I just have to do some final tweaking and it will be up in a couple of days, max :)**

**Many grateful thanks to my patient and talented beta, sordid_humor!**

**Please Review!**

**Chapter 18**

It was the longest two weeks of his life.

Draco didn't know he was capable of missing someone so much. He missed that boy with every fiber of his being—every muscle ached for him, every finger craved his touch. How was it possible for something as immaterial as the absence of someone to make each and every one of Draco's senses burn with such longing? He missed seeing that erratic spray of freckles on Harry's cheekbones, missed getting lost in those incomparable jade eyes. Draco missed Harry's voice—that smooth, resonate bass; his pleasant, rolling laugh. He missed the thickness of Harry's raven tresses between his fingers, missed the exotic scent of Harry's skin. He missed Harry. Too much.

Yet, Draco was trying desperately to shake the feeling that Harry didn't miss him at all. He called maybe once every three days, if Draco was lucky, and when he did he was slightly distant, distracted and brief. He was also annoyingly chipper—that flippant, carefree Potter that Draco loved to hate, always friendly with him, always relaxed and easy going on the phone, never so much as acknowledging their separation. All Draco wanted was for Harry to care just a little, pine just the tiniest bit, ache to come home the way Draco ached for his return—was that too much to ask? Yes, it was. For Potter, it was _way_ too much to ask.

So, waiting on an uncomfortable and likely germ-infested bench at the train station on the day of Harry's long-awaited return, Draco vowed to remain just as impassive as Harry. He would be the king of cavalier. He was through with being the Helena to Harry's Demetrius. He knew how to play the cold card—not that it had ever had as good of an effect on the green-eyed Boy-Wonder but it was worth a shot.

Draco stood when he heard the rumbling of the tracks, grateful for the excuse to get up off the grimy seat. He distracted himself with his clothing as the train pulled into the station. When his heart fluttered at the thought of that boy stepping off the platform… he adjusted his collar. His throat tightened when he thought about catching those eyes, seeing that smile: he straightened his tie. His gut clenched imagining his fingers in those unruly locks: he tugged at his cuffs. See? Simple. He could so handle this.

The train was unloading now and Draco made note to keep his expression blank. _Just like in court_, he thought_, vacant of emotion, carefully professional_. He was good at his job for a reason—this, he could do.

"Hey, blondie."

The familiar voice brought tremors to Draco's knees. Tightening his fists in his pockets, a concealed form of reining in his firing nerves, Draco turned his head casually, managing an arrogant smirk.

"His majesty returns," Draco simpered, gaze trailing Harry's body briefly before forcing his eyes to flick away. He nodded to Hermione and Ron, offering Weasley a hand.

"Welcome back to the land of the civilized," he said, shaking Ron's hand.

Ron grinned, although awkwardly. "Thanks for the lift, Malfoy."

"Yes, we really appreciate it," Hermione said hurriedly. "I hope it wasn't too much trouble."

"Not at all," Draco replied, reaching for her trunk. "Let me take that for you, Granger."

As he lead the way back to the car, Harry fell in step beside him. "You're being awfully friendly with them today," he said, a curious smirk tracing his lips.

"Appalling, isn't it?" Draco replied, eyes on his keys as he fiddled with the remote lock and pointed it at his car. It unlocked with a quick beep and the click of the shifting latches. "See what you've turned me into, Potter? I'm positively civil. It's embarrassing."

Harry laughed as he slid his guitar into the trunk, watching his boyfriend hold open the back door for Hermione, closing it lightly behind her. Harry grinned when Draco opened the passenger side door and looked at him expectantly.

"What, your legs don't work?" said Draco with a roll of his eyes when Harry didn't move right away. "The chivalry ends here, Wonder Boy. I've got the door but you have to take care of the rest."

Harry chuckled, holding Draco's gaze as he stepped forward, ignoring the door and pressing himself flush against Draco's chest and hips. The blond stiffened slightly, but otherwise didn't move, looking down at Harry through careful, watching eyes.

Harry walked his fingers up Draco's chest, toying with his tie somewhat absently, eyes cast down. Draco let out a staggered sigh as Harry's body pressed into him—as the heat from those fingers seeped through the thin cotton of his shirt to wreak havoc on his cool exterior. It was taking every ounce of will power he had to keep from assaulting the boy right there in the car park. When Harry looked up at him again, Draco held his breath. Those vibrant eyes almost demanded it, in fact—they were so striking, so kind, so captivating—Draco couldn't have moved if he'd tried.

The brunet leaned in for a kiss, slow, gentle and sultry. When his lips met Draco's, Draco inhaled sharply and deeply through his nose. Gods, the smell of him, the taste of him, the touch of him—it was all too much. Draco let one hand slip to Harry's waist but he monitored it carefully. He didn't grip, he didn't pull, he just… placed it there.

"I missed you, ya git," Harry mumbled, breath licking at Draco's lips.

Draco let his eyes slide open and, to his immense satisfaction, achieved a swaggering smirk, raising one smug eyebrow at the boy. "You did, did you?" he muttered, his tongue darting out and moistening his lips.

Harry nodded, closing his fingers around Draco's tie and pulling him down for another kiss. Draco moaned quietly, inviting Harry's seeking tongue into his mouth and bringing a hand up to cup the side of Harry's face.

Harry was gentle in his arms, his kiss tender, his touches soft and careful. He curled into every crevice of the blond's narrow frame and Draco felt the sincerity on his lips. It made him realize that no matter how hard Harry clung to his independence, the musician would always be a romantic at heart. Harry just needed to prove to himself and to others that he could stand on his own, that he didn't rely on anybody, that no one save himself could dictate his life—but Draco honestly believed that Harry loved him in his own confused way. It didn't matter that he didn't know how to show it sometimes; because he always came home, and because he cared for Draco with as much passion and honesty as anyone could ask for.

Draco's hand on Harry's waist slipped then, gliding up the small of the boy's back, fingers spread over the heat of his spine. Draco secured his hold on Harry's compact little frame, enjoying the faint, contended sound of the brunet humming against his mouth. The soft glide of Harry's lips had Draco's mind and hormones reeling, the velvety stroke of Harry's tongue in his mouth—

He gave a violent start, nearly biting off his own tongue when the car horn blared, scaring the living shit out of him.

"Oi!" Ron hollered, leaning back into his seat. "Would you two get a move on? There will be plenty of time for that once you get home." The ginger added something about audiences and small children in the vicinity, Hermione's elbow connecting with his stomach to stifle him mid-quip.

Harry and Draco both snickered, Draco dropping one last chaste kiss to Harry's lips before gesturing him into the car and closing the door behind him.

On the drive home, Harry and the others filled Draco in on the results of their "fortnight excursion in the boonies," as the blond had taken to calling it. Things had gone rather well; they'd made some good connections within the company, recorded three original pieces and left with the Lovegood's promise to produce an EP and sponsor a release party as an initial promotion.

Hermione, who would only be involved with the progress until the end of the summer, seemed thrilled just to get to experience it—and to be a part of the first few months of getting the band off the ground.

The boys were excitable, to say the least. Ron was yammering on so hurriedly that Draco was reminded of a particular teenage blond; although Ron was more brute about it than George, and far less cute. His astonishingly lazy speech patterns were getting harder to understand by the minute—he seemed to be spewing half-finished sentences, articles and modifiers dropping like flies.

Harry was letting Ron do most of the talking, quietly grinning and casting happy glances at his socially fatigued boyfriend. Amused understanding flashed in his eyes; he knew quite well the amount of patience Draco was channeling from God-knows-where. Draco was able to get along fine with Hermione and Ron, but that didn't change the fact that the blond found Weasley's lack of social graces taxing.

The moment Harry's hand found Draco's between the seats—lacing their fingers together in a gesture that was nothing less than perfect is its simplicity—Draco could anticipate with complete confidence what would become of his afternoon.

At that tranquil touch—that smiling glance, that quirk of pouty lips—Draco felt as though for the first time in this befuddled relationship, things were miraculously clear and… simple.

He knew that when they dropped off Ginger and Granger, he and Harry would head straight to Draco's flat because it was closest and those valuable minutes weren't worth wasting in transit. He knew that he would claim Harry with his mouth and hands and body the instant they stepped through that door, and that Blaise would swiftly and considerately excuse himself from the apartment with some wisecrack about making his escape. The quip would go unregistered—the thrum of thundering heartbeats, the mingling of heated breaths washing away everything else in a storm of sensation, feeling….

Draco knew he would be urgent and needy but tender because Harry was home and Draco never wanted him to leave again. He would smother the boy with affection, drown him with devotion, make love to him with every single kiss and touch and needy, gasping breath.

It would happen so fast but it would last forever. It would be blurry and heated and dizzying. Draco would lay him down, would breathe with him, gasp with him—lie together in every sense Shakespeare ever used the word. Their chests would roll together in slick waves as Draco hovered over him, wrapped in Harry's passionate, sweaty embrace. He'd be thrusting hard and slow and deep, needing it to be perfect, needing it to last.

He knew he would be inundated with everything that was Harry; so aware of every muscle working beneath him, around him, every pleasured, shameless sound spilling from the boy's chest and throat. He would maintain so much closeness it would be impossible to tell where he ended and Harry began. He would smell him, breathe him, taste his sweat. He would love him.

Draco would love him in every way he knew how, with every sensual roll, every aching grasp—and he would express it in every language he could that wasn't spoken word, recite it over and over and pray that his control would hold and the words wouldn't tumble from his foolishly enamoured lips. Because Harry already knew—and Draco would find every other way to remind him of it until the boy was ready to open that door, to be reacquainted with that part of himself; until he was ready to be loved aloud.

And Draco knew that Harry would be ready eventually—that one day, the words wouldn't seem quite so scary but rather natural, comfortable, instinctive. One day things would be easier and, although life would never be simple, complexity would be a more manageable feat when they tackled it together.

One day, Harry would hurt a little less and love a little more. One day, Draco would be able to share Harry's troubles, understand his history and erase his heartache. And until that day, Draco would just love him. For now, that was enough.

_-fin-_

* * *

**A/N: Yayyyy! Okay, please stay tuned for the epilogue, coming in the next day or two :) Thanks everyone!**

**WritteMatrix**


	19. Epilogue

**A/N: So here goes. The last of the last. I was quite happy with the last chapter as an ending, but of course epilogue plot bunnies raided my head and I had to come up with this. So this goes out to all of you who would like a glimpse of our boys' future. I sincerely hope you enjoy :) **

**I have included a link to a song within the text, (it's in lyrics again, so watch for it). Please follow the link if you don't recognize the song – I think it's important you know what it sounds like. I will do a proper disclaimer at the end of the fic, because I don't want to give it away now, but lyrics and song do not belong to me.**

**To my amazing beta—T, how can I thank you enough? It's been an amazing journey; I can hardly believe I finished one of these. You have been a world of wonderfulness to me. You've helped make this fic what it is today, and you've helped me to grow as a writer. So in a thousand words, a thousand languages—thank you.**

**Epilogue**

_Two Years Later._

Draco carded his fingers through his fine silvery strands, eyeing his reflection in the mirror, pleased with his appearance but unable to stop primping. He always knew he was neurotic when it came to… well, to everything, really. At least that's what Harry called it, though Draco much preferred the term meticulous. Today, however, his appearance was even more important. He looked good; that much was irrefutable, but today he needed to look much more than good. He needed to turn heads, flutter hearts, stop traffic—he needed to look so Goddamn fine that angels fucking sang when he walked into a room.

Because today, Harry was coming home.

"Draco, it's about time to leave, I think," Hermione noted easily, patting Draco's shoulder. "You look ravishingly handsome, as always. I'm sure Harry will be speechless."

"Oh, he'll be speechless, alright. But mostly because I'll have my tongue down his throat."

Hermione chuckled but shook her head. "You know, Draco, for a man who prides himself on his class, you can really be quite vulgar." She grinned at him, hazel eyes sparkling with amusement. She'd grown more or less accustomed to the man's brutal honesty concerning his sex life; in truth, at some point in the past two years, she'd rather unexpectedly found herself quite fond of the prat. He was a stubborn but compassionate man, endlessly entertaining and reliably sharp-witted. Most importantly, he was good for Harry.

"I suppose I'll have to watch myself when mini Ginger pops out then, won't I?" Draco said, touching Hermione's round belly with a gentle pat and throwing her a smirk.

"You're quite right, you will," she answered, returning the grin. "To be honest though, you're the least of my worries. Harry's got quite the mouth on him as well—and don't even get me started on that husband of mine."

Draco snorted, finally pulling himself away from the mirror and grabbing his keys from the kitchen counter, the only thing out of place on the immaculately bare surface. The entire house was that way, actually; clean, orderly and uncluttered—just the way Draco liked it. It would be much more strenuous to keep it that way now that Harry was going to be around again but having the man home was well worth the extra effort. He figured it was about time he started paying for a cleaning lady again, anyhow.

"I'm just bloody thankful he finally knocked you up."

At the bewildered look Hermione shot him, Draco clarified. "For purely selfish reasons, obviously," he teased. "That little ginger you got cooking is what will be keeping our boys home for the next while. They've been on tour more times than I would like."

The band had been gone just three months this time but it still felt like years. Draco had gotten used to Harry's reoccurring absences by now—although he didn't so much find them easier as he found himself resigning to the reality of what their life was like for the time being. That was a reality Draco was hoping to change sometime soon.

The boys kept their tours rather short, mostly thanks to Harry and Ron's demands. They both had someone waiting for them back at home and it wasn't as though Wandless Magic was a worldwide phenomenon. They were successful, plentifully so, but they weren't kicking it with Muse just yet. To be perfectly honest though, Draco was fairly certain they planned to keep it that way, much to his relief. Harry didn't need his music to be his entire life anymore. And as much happiness as the band brought both him and Weasley, he was in a place now where he didn't depend on that crutch. With the baby coming, Draco was hoping Harry and Ron (and their newest band member, Alec) would take some much needed time off.

At the airport, Draco guided Hermione through the terminal with a hovering hand at her back. He wasn't entirely sure when he'd become protective of her but these past couple years of living with Harry had brought him a lot closer to her and Ron. It sometimes felt a tad odd but, in the end, he supposed it was nice that everyone could come together as a group.

"Are we early?" Hermione asked as they approached the gate.

Draco glanced at his watch. "They should have landed already. I think we're just on time."

His phone buzzed in his pocket just then and Draco pulled it out to see a text message from Harry. "Speak of the devil."

_From: Harry_

_Hey Dray we're just unloading now. Old hag in front is taking forever… Can't wait to see you._

_Sent: 1:16 PM_

"They're on their way down," Draco said with a small smirk. "It's a bloody good thing they fly first class now—sounds like Harry's wreaking havoc with the elderly. Impatient sod."

Hermione chuckled. "That's our Harry."

~.~.~

"Harry, would you relax?" Ron hissed through the side of pursed lips, trying to remain unheard by other passengers as he threw the stewardess an awkward smile. "She's like a hundred years old. She can only go so fast, mate."

"I'm just anxious to get off this plane is all," Harry muttered back, cracking his knuckles in the nervous habit he'd never be rid of no matter how it irritated Draco.

"You're anxious to get some action, is what you are," Alec jeered. "Oh, trust me, I know," he insisted when Harry tried to protest. "Hotel walls are very thin."

Ron snickered and Harry had the decency to blush slightly, flashing Alec an apologetic smirk.

When they finally stepped beyond the gate, Harry's eyes scanned the sea of people milling about until they landed on a chic, slender, preposterously good-looking blond. He stood out in this crowd and he would have stood out in a crowd of thousands. With his exquisite features—the refined arch of his brow, the dusty pallor of his complexion over chiseled cheekbones and jaw—he was almost angelic and it was no surprise that he turned heads whenever he walked into a room. He carried his long, trim frame with an aristocratic poise that always made Harry wonder if people were surprised to see them together.

As he caught that silver gaze, Draco smiled. A real smile—one Harry didn't see too often when they weren't in the privacy of their own home, over a hot cuppa in the evening or curled up on the couch enjoying a bad flic.

But in that moment, it was a bit as though they _were_ alone because the world had hollowed and the blurry edges that surrounded Draco didn't matter. Harry quickened his pace, a wide grin curving his lips as he made a beeline for the man who was now watching Harry approach with a boastful expression on his face.

Dropping his carry-on when he got within a couple feet, Harry took Draco by surprise by wrapping his arms around the blond's neck and hopping up into his arms. His legs wrapped around Draco's narrow hips and he hooked his ankles behind his back.

"Mmrrff," Draco grunted, staggering back, barely prepared for the weight of the man in his arms but any words of protest lost in the eager press of Harry's mouth. Doing his best to secure his hold on the boy's small frame, Draco slipped his hands under Harry's arse for support and kissed back as best he could. He pointedly ignored the pull of his jacket across his shoulder blades, cotton and silk straining. He pretended he couldn't feel the curious glances sent their way.

Fingertips grazed the back of Draco's neck, dipping into his hair line as Harry kissed him long, hard and slow. When the boy finally came away for air, his green eyes were smiling behind half-closed lids.

"Hey, baby," Harry mumbled lazily, that lopsided grin tugging freely at his pretty mouth.

"Hey," Draco echoed. "Miss me?" He watched as Harry's eyes left his gaze, landing on his mouth as he spoke, as if mesmerized, as if distracted by his lips. Draco couldn't help but dart a tongue out between them for effect and Harry leaned forward slightly, somehow drawn in to that damp, teasing flick.

"Never," the brunet replied, his lust-filled, lingering eyes confessing everything that one word failed to. In a contradictory moment of hasty movement and catching breaths, Harry crashed against Draco's mouth, once again eliminating this unnecessary disconnect of their parted lips.

Draco moaned softly into Harry's kiss. He half-heartedly tried to pull away, knowing how much attention they were attracting to themselves but Harry had a persistent grasp on the back of his head.

"Harry—"

"Mmm," Harry hummed, snubbing Draco's efforts to cut off the kiss. "Love you," he mumbled.

With an eager swipe of his tongue against Harry's, Draco deepened the kiss for a brief moment to acknowledge the words before again trying to ease out of the brunet's clutches. "I love you too—but honestly, Harry, you're not getting any lighter."

Grinning, Harry hopped down and bent to pick up his backpack but Draco beat him to it. Together they made their way over to where the others had taken refuge—a few paces away, acutely pretending they didn't know the ridiculous couple snogging like hormonal sixteen-year-olds in the middle of London Heathrow. Shuffling to a stop and hovering just behind Harry's shoulder, Draco looped two fingers into the back of the boy's waistband, dropping a quick kiss to his temple. This happened every time Harry came home—maintaining any sort of distance from the boy was beyond trying. After all their time apart, the proximity felt too good, too rejuvenating.

Alec was shaking his unkempt head at them; his dark, tousled dreads were vaguely Potter-esque but with his thick five o'clock shadow and harder features that were far less boyish than Harry's, he gave off a much scruffier impression. "You two need to learn to get—"

"Don't tell them to get a room," Ron interrupted. "Because you know they will. And Draco's our only ride home."

Draco smirked and turned his gaze to the unconventionally handsome features of Alec's face. The man's almond shaped eyes fell under the shadow of his low and heavy brows but his full mouth and ample, pouty lower lip were always a quick shift away from a smile. That infectious grin is what softened him, kept him from looking callous. "You need a lift?" Draco asked him.

"Nah, I'm alright. Thanks anyway. I've got a friend on the way."

"A _friend_," Harry repeated. The quotations around the word implying its connotations were evident without a physical gesture from Harry.

"Can it, Harry. You people," Alec started, motioning to the two couples with a bit of a sarcastic sneer, "have your meaningful relationship bollocks and I'll keep my shallow, adulterous sex life. We can't all live in a fucking Disney movie."

The irony in the statement had Draco biting the inside of his cheek in an effort to keep his witty retorts to himself. He had a feeling Disney wouldn't particularly approve of the damage he and Harry had done to the headboard the night before the band had left on tour. Draco hadn't had the heart to fix the holes in the drywall yet, either—they reminded him of Harry.

"Until Friday night, then?" Alec asked, eyes finding Harry's with a subtle twitch of his brow.

Harry gave him a brief nod. "See you then."

As he walked away, Draco looked to Ron and Hermione—who were carefully avoiding his gaze—then to Harry curiously, trying to catch his eyes. "Friday night? What's Friday night?"

When Harry's eyes finally cut up to him, they were bright and enigmatic. "You'll see," he said.

~.~.~

The Room of Requirement was positively swarming with enthused fans—busier than Draco had ever seen it. Wandless Magic was almost getting too high profile to be performing there anymore but Harry had insisted that their homecoming celebration to wrap up the tour be there, where the band had first been born.

The place was positively teeming with security. Most of the regular bouncers recognized Draco by now anyway, but just in case Harry had gotten he, Blaise, George and the Weasley twins VIP passes that had allowed them to bypass the line—something for which Draco was quite grateful for, as it had been curving around the block by the time they showed up.

Hermione had left long before the others in order to join the boys on stage playing keyboard as part of the reunion. She was an endearing sight actually, her cheeks flushed in a wide smile and her subtle but noticeable baby bump tenting her empire-waist summer dress.

After nearly losing an eye in the pit of screaming teenagers, (because as it turned out, Harry, Ron and Alec, all being energetic and attractive young men, drew an overwhelmingly adolescent female fan-base,) Draco had had enough. Closely followed by Blaise and George Weasley, he retreated to the left side of the club to their reserved booth. Fred stayed with Little George on the dance floor, the teeny blond watching the band up close and personal with wide, admiring eyes. He'd never quite gotten rid of his fan-boy status and Fred would endure anything to be by his side. They weren't exactly together anymore but they somehow managed a friendship, despite their on-again off-again relationship.

From the safety of the booth, Draco ordered a round of drinks from a passing waitress and surveyed Harry as the boy worked his vocal magic. Not that he had any shortage of visual enchantment, mind you. He looked… incredible—almost the same as he had nearly three years ago when Draco first laid eyes on him. The only difference now was that his confidence wasn't contrived, his happiness genuine, and it showed in his eyes.

Draco watched as Harry stepped forward onto one of the large, booming speakers that flanked the stage, crouching down and reaching into the crowd. Arms and hands flailed frantically to touch him, grab his hand, graze his shoes or the tattered hem of his jeans. It didn't bother Draco like it used to—the attention Harry got, that is. He'd managed to find some control over his jealous behavior, perhaps because he was more confident in what he and Harry had. Bints and blokes alike could flirt all they wanted because Harry was a friendly little bugger, maybe more so than necessary, but he was loyal. At the end of the night, he would be going home with Draco.

Polishing off his drink, Draco moved to slide out of the seat.

A hand grabbed his arm. "Where are you going?" Blaise asked him.

Draco gave him a perplexed look. "The loo, Zabini. Do you mind?"

Blaise tried to pull him back into the booth. "No, you can't go yet."

"I didn't realize I needed to get clearance from you," Draco simpered. "Have you made up a schedule of when I'm allowed to take a piss?"

"No, er—it's just, it's almost the end of Harry's show!" He fidgeted, gesturing to the stage somewhat vaguely but not really meeting Draco's eyes.

Draco raised an eyebrow at him. "Did someone drop something in your drink, Zabini? Relax, I'll be back in two minutes."

He shrugged off Blaise's hand and slipped away to the back of the club.

In the confinements of the small bathroom, the music was a muffled echo against the tiled walls. When the song came to an end, Draco couldn't help but grin at the sound of Harry's winded voice addressing the crowd.

"Okay… firstly, I have to thank all of you for coming out tonight. We couldn't have hoped for a better way to close the tour…."

Harry paused for the explosion of whoops and hollering from the rowdy crowd.

"We'll be taking some time off for a while—" he continued. Loud booing interrupted him again. Draco smirked and shook his head. The boy had patience, he could give him that much. Harry pressed on cheerfully. "Now, now, guys. Ron here's going to be a daddy!"

Predictably, the mood of the audience lifted and Draco chuckled to himself as he washed his hands at the sink.

"Now, for those of you who've been around since the beginning, you may know it's somewhat of a Wandless Magic tradition to end with a cover…and we've got a little something special for you tonight. It sorta speaks for itself, so I guess we'll just jump right in…."

The thump of the foot-peddle drum and the light, plunking of keyboard notes were just starting to fill the club by the time Draco pushed out the door of the bathroom, heading back towards the stage. He caught sight of Harry and was mildly surprised to see the man was looking at him from all the way across the club, a small grin on his lips. His guitar hung from the strap around his neck as he stood with his hands on the mic, his eyes never once leaving Draco's.

Draco took leisurely strides in the direction of the table he'd been sitting at. He tried his best to focus on not colliding with anyone, very aware that he was wearing one of his best shirts and wouldn't have been too thrilled by another horrifying dry-cleaning bill. But Harry's eyes never left him, not once—and when the boy started singing, Draco didn't think he recognized the song, but that was of little or no consequence because the smooth yet gritty timbre of Harry's voice still made Draco's stomach do flips.

"_It's a beautiful night,_

_We're lookin' for somethin' dumb to do,_

_Hey, baby,_

_I think I wanna marry you."_

Draco stopped dead in his tracks. He'd nearly reached the table now and he could feel his friends watching him. His eyes cut back up to Harry immediately, only to see that the boy had a mischievous smirk on his lips. Draco wasn't sure where his head was at but it wasn't currently attached to his body. He was somewhere frozen in an obnoxiously silent universe where there was nothing to see but Harry, staring into his soul with those penetrating green eyes. Harry threw Draco a wink and kept singing, but Draco didn't understand. His brain wasn't properly processing his environment.

"_Is it that look in your eyes,_

_Or is it this dancing juice?_

_Who cares, baby?_

_I think I wanna marry you."_

Harry's voice was like a drug and it was intoxicating. He could barely think, barely stand—come to think of it, he thought he might pass out. His eyes searched the floor, unseeing; it took a moment for him to realize it wasn't Harry's voice that was making his head spin but the words that were spilling from that inebriating mouth. Was this some sort of joke? Harry's idea of being cute? Draco reached out and clutched the frame of the booth, trying to steady himself. This wasn't real. It couldn't be. He was dreaming, or hallucinating or… or… something. But when he looked up at Harry, the boy smiling at him, looking playful and earnest and adorable, he knew that it wasn't a delusion. It was very much real.

"_Well, I know this little chapel,_

_On the boulevard, we can go-oo-o-oo-o,_

_No one will know-oo-o-oo-o,_

_Oh, come on, boy._

_Who cares if we're trashed,_

_Got a pocket full of cash, we can blow-oo-o-oo-o,_

_Shots of patro-oo-o-oo-on,_

_And it's on, boy."_

And then the song picked up and Harry bent into his guitar, pulsing with the upbeat tempo and grinning like a buffoon. He sang it like he sang anything else—with energy, enthusiasm and sincerity. Only this time when his eyes found Draco's in the crowd, Draco knew it was more than just playfulness in those flirty eyes. No, this was more direct, more undeniably significant. And Draco was struck immobile by it. And Harry was so… happy, so jovial, as though he wasn't asking the biggest, most important question of his life in front of hundreds of people. He was astonishingly relaxed and the smile in his eyes depicted his confidence. There wasn't a shred of doubt—no fear whatsoever that it would blow up in his face.

"_Don't say no, no, no, no-no,_

_Just say yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah,_

_And we'll go, go, go, go-go,_

_If you're ready, like I'm ready,_

'_Cuz it's a beautiful night,_

_We're lookin' for somethin' dumb to do,_

_Hey, baby,_

_I think I wanna marry you."_

There was the distinct sound of wedding bells interweaving into the music. Dear Lord, Hermione was fucking plunking out wedding bells on her fucking keyboard. It was horrific, it was tacky… and it was possibly the most romantic thing Draco had ever heard. His vision was swimming. People were looking at him now. When his eyes cut up to Harry's again, they were tingling uncomfortably. He swallowed hard.

"_I'll go get the ring,_

_Let the choir bell sing like, oo-oo-oo-oo-ooh,_

_So what you wanna do-oo-oo-oo-oo,_

_Let's just run, boy."_

As Harry sang on, Draco tore his eyes away and looked to his friends at the table next to him. George and Blaise were watching him intently. They were probably waiting for a reaction from Draco that expressed anything other than shock but so far, that was all Draco was capable of. He glanced over the crowd and locked eyes with Little George, who was gazing at him with full, round eyes that were brimming with tears. That's when Draco recognized just what that tingling sensation behind his nose was. He blinked quickly against the shimmery veil at his lash line that threatened to impede his vision. God damned fucking emotions.

"_Just say I do,_

_Tell me right now, baby,_

_Tell me right now baby, baby._

_Just say I do,_

_Tell me right now, baby,_

_Tell me right now, baby, baby, oh."_

Harry's eyes were closed, fingers flying over the chords, his face a mixture of warmth and honesty. Quite suddenly, Draco had the use of his limbs back. He moved forward, albeit slowly, watching Harry's sweet face, his quirky smile, his pouting lips, the creases at the corner of his eyes….

It was as if the crowd knew Draco was coming; many of them were watching him, parting for him, as if they were all in on this unlikely scheme. Maybe it was the way Harry had been staring at him that made them know, the way he made so clear that these lyrics were more than just words, that this was more than just a song.

In very little time, Draco was at the front, gracefully hopping over the railing that separated the anxious fans from the stage, the bouncers watching him and saying nothing. If Draco hadn't felt so fucking petrified, so frozen and sick to his stomach, he might have chuckled; as usual, Harry had everyone in this place wrapped around his pinky finger.

The music quieted as Harry's hands left his guitar and wrapped softly around the mic stand—softly like the changing tone of his voice, softly like the petering moments of the song. Hermione's ringing bells chirped brightly in the background as Harry looked down at Draco, eyes sparkling. The chorus rolled from his lips with the slowing ease of falling dusk. It was gradually quieter—it was in question.

"_It's a beautiful night,_

_We're lookin' for somethin' dumb to do,_

_Hey , baby,_

_I think I wanna marry you._

_Is it that look in your eyes,_

_Or is it this dancing juice?_

_Who cares, baby?_

_I think I wanna marry you."_

And then it was silent. Draco figured it was, anyway—but the sudden halting of notes and bass and cheering was louder than the shrillest shriek, the brashest applause. It felt as though hundreds of eyes were on him, waiting for an outcome, a response. It felt like the entire club was holding its breath but Draco supposed the crowd could have been screaming bloody murder and he wouldn't have known the difference—because in this moment, none of that existed. Standing at the base of the stage, there was nothing but Harry.

Draco extended a hand to him. Just one hand, held up and waiting. Harry lifted his guitar strap over his head and silently handed it to Alec. He crouched and took Draco's hand, dropping himself off the stage and landing in front of Draco with an agile bounce. His kind eyes watched the blond so carefully, tracked his every movement. There was the tiniest of grins playing at the corners of the boy's lips but it hovered, unsure—watching, waiting.

Lifting his fingers to the worn brim of Harry's cap, Draco eased it off his head and absently let it drop to the floor, where eager fans fought to catch it. Never straying from Harry's hypnotizing gaze, Draco fingered one of the boy's belt loops and gently pulled him closer. He stared into those staggering jade pools for a long, painfully silent moment. Then, with a hand swiftly lifting to the back of Harry's neck, Draco kissed him, deep and thorough and fervent.

The roar that filled the room then was deafening and should have drowned out everything else. The thunderous applause and piercing cheers should have been the only thing filling Draco's ears. Yet, as he inhaled deeply, breathing into the kiss and drinking in Harry's sweet, needy moan, what instead echoed in his head was the sound of the boy's thundering heart, his quiet, wet gasp, his quickening pulse. Apparently, Harry took precedence with Draco's senses; he was the center around which Draco foolishly orbited, the very oxygen that he breathed.

And the damn sod wastalking again. Why was he _always_ talking?

"Should I take tha' as a yes, then?" Harry mumbled against his lips.

Draco hummed and deepened the kiss, pressing into the smaller man's frame as absolutely and hotly as he could.

"Mmmwe coul' go ta' Canada, ya know."

"Spain's closer," Draco replied instinctively, refusing to pull away.

"Or we coul' do it here… partnership laws… pretty much tha same thin'…."

"Harry, I'll marry you in every fucking country you can think of. I'll marry you on the fucking moon if you can get us there. Just shut up."

Harry caved then. Submitting to the kiss, he brought his arms up to hook around Draco's neck, mouth readily accepting his tongue. He let Draco kiss him into oblivion, guide him to a place where Draco could answer yes in so many ways but so little words. And Draco did so greedily. He accepted his offer with hot touches, vibrating nerves, burning grazes of skin against skin.

Neither of them heard the MC's congratulatory announcements, or noticed the flashing of paparazzi cameras, or cared that someone had reached through the bars of the barrier to snatch Harry's cap and dash away with it. It didn't matter that the bouncers were starting to fidget uncomfortably, that they were having to forcefully keep fans from spilling over the railings. It didn't matter that people were watching, didn't matter that this would be the talk of all of tomorrow's papers or that Alec was forced to say the final thank yous to officially bring the show to a close. All that mattered was this kiss, this moment, this feeling—in the very spot they had first met, the night it had all started—what felt like eons, worlds away.

Draco smiled against Harry's lips. He'd never anticipated a love like this, never expected to feel so consumed by an obsession for someone other than himself—it was so un-Malfoy; however, he supposed his perseverance would have done his father proud. He'd gone after what he'd wanted and triumphed in more ways than he could have hoped for. He'd faced every damn hurdle, dealt with every one of Harry's bloody mood swings and trounced every competitor. Harry was his now, in the same way that he was Harry's—and for that, he had many things to thank; patience, for example—patience and finesse; love and sex and determination… and most importantly, post-its.

**A/N: There she be my pretties.**

**I have to SINCERELY, from the bottom of my heart, thank those of you who have read this fic from the beginning, and have always made the time to give me your feedback. You are appreciated on more levels than you can count, honestly. The story wouldn't have been the same without you. And as most of you will know by now, the song was Marry You, by Bruno Mars, and I do not own it.**

**I'm a tad sad to see the end of this, but immensely satisfied as well. I hope to write more fics, I have plenty of ideas, so hopefully you'll be seeing more of my work again soon :)**

**Peace, Love and Boy Sex,**

**WrittenMatrix**


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